Lieutenant Porter
by Miranda C
Summary: Catherine Jane Hudson a.k.a Lieutenant Porter never regreted running away to sea. She had her fair share of adventures and an experience with a tyrannical commander, but maybe an episode on the HMS Renown would teach her another painful lesson. AK/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: **

_**Renown **_

The sun beat mercilessly down upon everyone on deck and the smell of sweat hung heavy in the air as the Renown was prepared to make sail this evening. Men clambered up and down the riggings and shrouds making last-minute inspections of their handiwork. Some men were busy operating the pulleys that carried heavy barrels of salt beef and fermented cabbage over the side of the deck. There was also a coop of chickens that were also brought aboard that will supplement the officers' table in the wardroom. There seems to be no idlers on board at all. To many a landsman, such a display of hectic activity was close to complete confusion.

Cathy felt sweat prickle the back of her neck and cursed her heavy woolen material of her lieutenant disguise climbed aboard the Renown with the ease of four years in a navy disguised first as a midshipman on the Dreadnaught then a lieutenant. She glanced around the quarterdeck.

There stood three officers, two lieutenants lofty and proud in their uniforms and a midshipman who was just a boy.

Cathy paused to examine one of the lieutenants. He had a pair of solemn brown eyes set deep into a pale face with a straight sharp chin. A sense of severity and seriousness radiated from every part of him, from the tufts of curly brown hair showing under the brim of his cocked hat all the way down to the shiny silver buckles on his shoes.

The other lieutenant was almost the complete opposite to his fellow officer. His facial features were less severe and held an air of general liveliness, cheerfulness and a sense of mischief that was hard to place. Such an air cannot even be destroyed by his neatly arranged blond hair or his set of piercing blue eyes. But such differences between the two fellow officers were set aside by the large grins on their faces.

Cathy's initial excitement of meeting her fellow officers was marred by a feeling of worry that settled over her mind when she saw the blond lieutenant. She knew him. She knew him not as Lt. Henry Porter, but as who she really was, Lady Catherine Hudson, daughter of the earl of Exeter. Cathy pulled her cocked hat lower over her eyes. Pray that Archibald Kennedy would not recognize her. Cathy took a deep breath and murmured, "Since I started playing this game, I might as well play to the end."

Cathy walked towards the three officers. She placed one foot in front of the other measuring nonchalantly. Her walk betrayed nothing of her inner fears. She stopped in front of the group, briefly touching her hat to the lieutenants.

"Reporting for duty, sir, Lieutenant Henry Porter, fifth lieutenant," said Cathy keeping her voice level and low.

"Lt. Horatio Hornblower, third lieutenant, Mr. Porter," said the man with the curly hair solemnly and offered Cathy his hand. His eyes never left her face.

Cathy felt unnerved by those incomprehensible brown eyes. She was a good judge of people. But Hornblower's expression was hard to comprehend. Not a trace of his previous merriment was evident on his face.

"Lt. Archie Kennedy, fourth lieutenant," said Kennedy, offering his hand as well.

Cathy shook it as well, giving him a small smile careful not to meet his eyes. He didn't seem to recognize who Lt. Porter really was. Cathy finally let out a breath.

"And you are?" Cathy glanced at the midshipman who almost immediately started to shift from foot to foot and said with forced bravado: "Wellard, sir."

Cathy nodded and smiled brightly, "Good to meet you, Mr. Wellard."

"And you too, sir." Wellard answered, stopping his nervous shifting.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Porter. It is a great pleasure to meet you. It is also great to know that I'm no longer the junior lieutenant on board," said Kennedy giving her a dazzling smile.

Cathy started to roll her eyes, Kennedy never changed. But she immediately restrained herself.

"It is a pleasure as well, sir," answered Cathy matching his smile with a crooked smile of her own. Addressing both of the officers, she said, "May I ask about the whereabouts of the first lieutenant, sir?"

"The captain would rather you reported directly to him, Mr. Porter," replied Hornblower stiffly. At the mention of the captain his expression darkened.

Cathy nodded and arched one eyebrow. "Aye aye, sir."

Most ships new officers only needed to report to the first lieutenant unless specifically requested by the captain. But Cathy soon dismissed it as being nothing. She slid past the three gentlemen towards the captain's cabin. This was real. She was going to see Captain Sawyer, national hero of the Nile. Cathy raised her arm and knocked on the dark wooden door, anticipation building up in her mind.

"Come in!" A sharp bark erupted from the cabin.

Cathy carefully removed her cocked hat from her head, tucking it under her arm as she emerged into the dim captain's day cabin. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noticed the Captain staring at her with dark beady eyes filled with suspicion across the great table dominating the small room.

The Captain was not a large man, but his commanding presence seemed to fill the entire cabin. He had a long hooked nose which gave him a hawk like look. Wispy hair that could have been blond but was now white could not be tamed by the black ribbon, framed his large face. His dark eyes which still held suspicion peered at her expectantly. He countenance was like that of a lion waiting to pounce on his unexpected prey.

Cathy straightened suddenly feeling self conscience. Her fingers had started to drum on her leg, a bad sign. She stared straight past the captain determined to look confident and unbowed in the presence of this imposing man. She clenched her hands into fists.

"Lieutenant Henry Porter, fifth lieutenant reporting for duty, sir." Cathy found comfort in reciting these all too familiar lines. In those few phrases there was no room for judgment.

"So," he paused, leering at her down his nose. His expression still bore the look of suspicion he had earlier. "You are Lt. Porter, Captain Foster's nephew? "

"Err..Yes sir." Cathy was thrown completely off her guard by the surprising nature of this question.

"Captain Foster praised you most highly throughout the Admiralty and in his most recent letter to me," said Sawyer. He imitated Foster in a high-pitched voice. "Lt Porter is an aspiring young officer. A highly capable man. A very clever man. He passed his examination for lieutenant with the best of praises." He paused before continuing in his usual voice, "On and on and on. You are to prove to me that you are indeed the aspiring and capable officer your uncle claims you are."

Sawyer looked her up and down, sizing her up, taking in her small slight figure and most likely wondering how on earth Captain Foster would praise such a pathetic looking officer.

Cathy winced to herself, hoping the Captain did not sense her discomfort.

"Sir, I am afraid that I was unaware….." Sawyer cut across her.

"However," said Sawyer leaning across the table. "I have also heard that you have been accused of mutiny. "Mutinying against the rightful commander of the sloop HMS Charlotte. Is that not true?"

"No, sir. It was only a misunderstanding."

"No, sir. It was only a misunderstanding."Sawyer mimicked her. His voice suddenly turned dangerous. "If you are to do anything close to conspiring against me, you shall suffer a very painful death."

Sawyer stuck his large nose right in front of Cathy's face.

Cathy jumped before forcing herself to smile.

"It is my greatest pleasure to serve under a captain with such a reputation, sir. Anyone who utter any words of mutiny under your command are the most foolish of fools , sir."

Sawyer's lip twitched upwards.

Cathy could clearly see the contempt written all over his face.

"You are very deceitful, very deceitful, Mr. Porter," muttered the Captain. Suddenly, he barked. "Dismissed, Mr. Porter."

Cathy jumped again.

"Aye aye, sir," said Cathy meekly.

The sunlight and heat of the quarterdeck was blinding.

But Cathy was too engrossed in thinking about Captain Sawyer and his behavior to notice. Captain Sawyer was weird, which the opposite of who the famous naval hero Cathy had come to expect. Cathy frowned, but everyone has their bad days. Sawyer was just having one of his most likely. Slowly, she made her way to Hornblower, Kennedy and Wellard all of whom were observing her quietly.

"Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, sir, and Mr. Wellard," greeted Cathy, briefly touching her hat.

"You have just spoken to the captain, Mr. Porter?" asked Kennedy. He smiled pleasantly at her.

"Yes, sir. I have." Cathy inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. She noticed that Hornblower gave Kennedy a warning look which Kennedy steadfastly ignored. He continued.

"Have you met the Captain before?"

"I am afraid that I have never met the captain before, however I have heard of his achievements and reputation just like we all have, sir," answered Cathy. Hornblower was looking very dangerous.

"Then what do you think of him, if I may ask."

Cathy smiled dryly. Kennedy was fishing, she knew it. She chose her words carefully and diplomatically.

"We have all heard about his accomplishments at sea and in battle as a fighting captain, however I believe I cannot yet make a judgment about the captain as a man only after speaking to him for barely five minutes, sir," replied Cathy slowly.

Shouts and curses erupted from the mess deck below. There was some grunts from someone then cheering rose. Kennedy opened his mouth to ask Cathy another question.

Cathy groaned a fight amongst the hands.

Hornblower who seemed to reach the same conclusion as Cathy, broke in before Kennedy could interrogate her any further about Sawyer.

"Mr. Wellard, see what is going on below decks before it brings the captain on us again," muttered Hornblower.

"Aye aye, sir."

Hornblower glared at Kennedy who finally closed his mouth. Silence surrounded the three lieutenants on the quarterdeck only to be broken by the scuffle below decks. Cathy continued to stare forward observing the activity that on the deck below. The noise from the mess deck grew louder instead of softer. Wellard wasn't succeeding.

"I think I will go help Mr. Wellard, sir," said Cathy finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes." Hornblower nodded. Cathy walked calmly below. The shouts and cheers of the crew became even louder as she drew nearer to the fight.

Below decks, everything was a mess. The noise caused by the brawl seemed twice as loud inside the close quarters. All the crew members were pushing in around the fighters to find the best position to see the fight. Wellard was trying pitifully to tell them to stop.

Cathy pushed roughly through the crowd. Not noticing the lieutenant cocked hat on her head the their midst, the men jostled and pushed her about. Cathy groaned, she was going to have bruised ribs by the time this was finished. She wanted to pull out her pistol and shoot whoever was fighting. Taking in a deep breath, she shouted,

"SILENCE!"

Pushing roughly through the throng of bodies, she stood in front of the two fighters. She gave them a venomous glare.

One of them, reminded her of a rat. His teeth protruded out of his lips and this mouth was slightly pouted also like that of a rat. Even his heavily scarred cheeks added to his rat likeness. The other man was arrogant, with such a large ego that impasses his status.

"Now, what is this about?" she demanded. The arrogant man guffawed loudly in disrespect.

"Let's say a light bit difference of opinions, you might say." Cathy's anger flared.

"You will address me as sir," barked Cathy. "The captain shall hear of this, have no doubts and the two of you would both be punished, severely."

She turned to go. But someone else, a gunner by his uniform was not finished.

"The captain likes his men to have some bare knuckle sometimes. Keeps them ready for the real thing, sir." The 'sir' was full of contempt.

"But you have disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer," said Cathy, gesturing at Wellard next to her. She glared at him.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Hornblower's voice rang out.

"And the punishment for that is death." Silence greeted her words.

Cathy gave the two men another glare before passing through the crew back onto the quarterdeck.

On the quarterdeck, Sawyer was already there. He gave the three lieutenants as they came up a hard look.

"It does not take three lieutenants to settle a brawl between the hands," he barked. "You are here to keep order. But what use are you to me when not one of you but all three of you are needed just to settle one brawl. You are all a lazy and incapable bunch."

Cathy opened her mouth to defend herself and the others who stood stiffly beside her. But she closed it again.

Sawyer glanced at them again, "Now! Get back to your watch, all of you!"

"Aye, aye, sir." Cathy muttered.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Sawyer unwaveringly ignored them while they made their way to the back of the quarterdeck. He glance imperiously at the sails and riggings.

"Mr. Buckland, get the ship under way," Sawyer ordered.

"Loosen, topsails!" Buckland shouted. Men immediately started to scale the shrouds and the order echoed around the ship.

Cathy glanced at the yardarms.

The wind picked up, billowing the sails.

Cathy saw in her mind's eye the shape of the Renown, the majestic ship sailing away with billowing sails into the sunset and endless horizons. She smiled slightly to herself, this was what she enjoyed, adventure. Adventure that could not be marred by hardships. This was what she lived for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was already four bells into the evening watch and the setting sun bathed the Renown in orange light. With a stiff breeze and calm seas, Plymouth Sound was already far astern. Idle hands sat in the mess deck playing a lusty game of dice. The sound of their laughter could be heard even on the quarterdeck. The cocked hat of the officer-of-the-watch could be seen pacing endlessly along the quarterdeck rail.

Cathy sighed. Ten paces to starboard. Ten paces back to port. Despite the glowing setting sun, an evening chill has settled in the air, wrapping its clammy fingers around the ship. It seeped through Cathy's heavy frock coat and into the thin shirt underneath. She paused at the taffrail eying the men on watch below. With her free right hand that was not clutching her glass; she rubbed her arm to warm it slightly. Subconsciously, she noted the direction of the breeze on her cheek and registered its southeasterly direction. She checked the log for the last hour. _3.5 knots. 4 knots. _She resumed her pacing.

The bell rang five bells. The evening chill worsened as the sun sank further down the horizon.

Cathy felt a pang of envy at the other lieutenants now in the wardroom, most likely enjoying a glass of wine. But she pushed it away; at least night watches during winter were even worse.

"Fine sailing conditions, Mr. Porter."

Cathy's heart jumped right into her throat. She whipped around, stood to attention and agreed simply,

"It is, Mr. Kennedy, sir."

She mentally slapped herself. Judging by his actions, Kennedy wasn't going to recognize her anytime soon. Cathy forced herself to relax, but her fingers continued to drum on the taffrail.

"Where do you think we are headed, Mr. Porter?"

"I'm afraid I cannot guess, sir. Perhaps the West Indies?"

"We'll soon find out, I'm sure."

"Aye, sir."

Silence descended on the quarterdeck, except for the sound of laughter and grumbles from the men's dice game. Kennedy stood silently beside her.

Cathy glanced at her silent companion. Did he look paler than usual? She ventured, "Are you well, sir?"

Kennedy glanced sharply at her, before offering a curt reply, "As well as I'll ever be on this ship."

This time she couldn't stop her eyebrow from disappearing into her hair. Reading between his words, Kennedy was unhappy. What was he supposed to mean? The Renown and Sawyer were one of the best ships and captains in the entire Royal Navy! Being a lieutenant, even a fourth lieutenant on such a ship was a great honour. Not to mention a great chance for any officer to shine in the eyes of their superiors. Promotion was important. What more could Kennedy possibly ask for?

Kennedy gave her a resigned smile. He declared, "You do not understand my words, I presume?"

"No, I cannot say I do, sir," admitted Cathy.

Kennedy did not reply, but continued to stare into the sunset. His expression darkened. Silence continued to reign.

"Sir?" Wellard broke the silence. Uncertainty coloured his voice, as he stared inquiringly at the lieutenants at the rail.

Cathy turned around. The corner of her mouth twitched

"Yes, Mr. Wellard?"

"Captain's compliments, sir, he wished all his lieutenants to report to his cabin immediately.""We will be there immediately, Mr. Wellard," said Kennedy resuming his lieutenant facade.

Wellard touched his hat.

"Mr. Wellard, take my watch until I return, if you please," said Cathy. She stood back to let Kennedy pass. "After you, sir."

Cathy followed him into the captain's cabin.

'Gentlemen, it's the West Indies for us," stated Captain Sawyer, carefully laying out the sheets of maps and charts on the wardroom table. He proceeded further and pointed at Haiti. "Our destination, Haiti."

"Santa Domingo, the black slaves are in rebellion against their Spanish masters," muttered Hornblower to Kennedy who nodded. Cathy felt amused and could barely restrain her lips from twitching. Either Kennedy lacked knowledge of anything besides sailing or Hornblower preferred himself to know everything. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who noticed this exchange.

"Yes, we seem to rely on Mr. Hornblower to keep us aware of such going on," said Sawyer. He gave Hornblower a calculating look before proceeding to glancing around the table at everyone else. "The slave rebellion. There is a nest of privateers here."

The Captain gave a 'humph' voicing his disapproval.

"The slave rebellion is caused by the French liberty, fraternity ideas set by the revolution, is it not?" asked Cathy but she instantly regretted it as Sawyer turned his beady eyes towards her.

"Yes, that is right. Liberty, fraternity and stupidity," muttered Sawyer. "You are not a revolutionary man, are you, Mr. Porter?"

Taken aback, yet again by the Captain, Cathy answered, "Certainly not, sir."

Sawyer gave a 'humph' again. His voice was scathing. "However in your previous commission on the Charlotte, your assumed mutiny made it different."

"I was never charged with mutiny or even accused of mutiny except by Commander George Hillock. Therefore a mutiny never did occur on the Charlotte," replied Cathy, coolly. Damn the man, why was he so strung up about the event on the Charlotte, there was no mutiny, thought Cathy.

Sawyer's lips twitched contemptuously.

"Indeed, indeed." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dr. Clive open his mouth, then closed it again.

Silence reigned.

"There will be more action than in the Channel fleet," murmured Bush.

"Yes, Mr. Bush. Plenty of action you shall have." The Captain answered, before splitting into something of an approving look. Declaring to the other officers seated around the table, "Now here is a man after my own heart. Plenty of action you shall have Mr. Bush."

Sawyer had obviously taken a liking to Bush just like he had taken an extreme enmity towards her.

Sawyer then turned to her. "Have you seen much action, Mr. Porter?"

"Yes, sir, when I served with Captain Foster on the Dreadnought. He was er…fond… of action."

"Of course, Mr. Porter. We are at war and I approve of Captain Foster and his ways. You are not here to criticize your superior officer."

'Sir, I meant no disrespect."

'That's enough.' Clive laid a hand on the Captain's shoulder. He composed himself. Cathy could see Sawyer trying to regain his former composure.

"Yes, plenty of action you shall have, Mr Bush. Along with an abundance of yellow fever, tropical heat, bad water, am I right, Dr. Clive?" the Captain continued.

"Yes, putrid fever, poisonous serpents." Clive muttered.

"Hurricanes and shipworms." Buckland added. The Captain pounced on him.

"Hurricanes and shipworms,' he muttered contemptuously. "Not a day out of Plymouth and you're already out of your depth. Hurricanes and shipworms."

Cathy wanted to help the seemingly helpless first lieutenant but decided against it.

Clive stood up. "Gentlemen. If you please."

He gestured at the door. Cathy glances curiously at the Captain and Clive as she filed out of the cabin with the others.

***

The Captain seems to have gained an extreme suspicion towards her that was almost bordering on enmity, though Cathy. She resumed her watch and her pacing on the quarterdeck.

The man clearly had problems that couldn't simply be attributed to a bad day. He seems to Cathy to be someone quick to judge based only on personal prejudice and bias and seems to be highly suspicious of everything and everyone especially his officers.

Cathy shivered again. The night has already descended and without the sun the chill was even worse. In her pondering about the captain, she had not noticed the cold. Then another thought struck her. Was Kennedy's earlier comment referring to the captain? Did he think the captain was going to endanger the ship because of his eccentricity? Cathy paused and looked over the lower deck, waiting patiently for the eight bells that would signal the end of her watch.

The eight bells sounded and Mr. Bush came to take the watch.

Cathy gratefully gave the watch to him. She briefly touched her hat and descended down to the wardroom.

The wardroom was warm and well lit by candles and lanterns Hornblower and Kennedy sat on a bench by the stern windows. Their conversation ceased abruptly as Cathy stepped into the room.

Cathy felt uncomfortable. She stopped at the doorway, "I'm sorry, sir, i can always return later."

"No, carry on, Mr. Porter," said Hornblower with a significant glance at Kennedy.

"Thank you, sir."

Cathy could feel Hornblower and Kennedy still looking at her. The silence got onto her nerves. She hung her cloak by the door and gingerly placed her hat by the sidetable. She proceeded to pour a glass of wine. She offered the glass to the others, breaking the silence, "Wine, sir?"

Hornblower accepted the wine with a curt nod.

Cathy poured another one. But during the process, Kennedy asked, "Have we met before, Mr. Porter?"

Cathy's hand jerked violently. The wine bottle tipped and the wine missed the glass, sending it slopping all over the trap. Cathy cursed and put the bottle down and searched vainly of a cloth to clear the mess. There were none. She turned around and carefully offered the glass to him. Hornblower had noticed her blunder and watched her expression carefully.

"I do not believe we have, sir."

"Have you been on the Indefatigable, Mr. Porter?" asked Hornblower.

"The Indefatigable?" Cathy mused over the name. Smiling gratefully she continued. "Under Captain Pellew's command, I was on the Indefatigable with Captain Foster after the Spanish blew the Caroline into smithereens. The Indefatigable saved my life and that of everyone aboard the Caroline!"

"We, Kennedy and I both served on the Indefatigable under Pellew."

"Then perhaps that is why we have met before?"

"Yes, perhaps." Kennedy said still frowning. Hornblower sipped his wine.

"Well, since we will all be serving together on the Renown, we should get to know each other better."

"Yes, of course," Cathy agreed giving a small nod.

"Perhaps, you can start first."

"No, sir," Cathy shook her head. "You are the superior officer."

"I believe that is an order, Mr. Porter." Kennedy had cut in before Hornblower could reply. The triumphant smile across his face disturbed Cathy greatly.

She decided to play along for the moment. There was time to find out what both of them were thinking. "Aye, sir. Though I believe that my life is not the most exciting."

Cathy recited her well practised story. "My father was a solicitor, a very ordinary one, and I have an older brother and two sisters. My mother worked as a governess. My uncle was Captain Foster and my father sent me to him four years ago, thinking that I would be able to independently support myself. I spent one year as a midshipman. Foster let me take the examination for lieutenant after a year. Fortunately I passed. I spent another year with Foster. Then I was commissioned on the sloop, HMS Charlotte. The commander wasn't the bestest of captains, so the ship wrecked on the Isle of Wright. I was off active duty after the Charlotte was wrecked before coming here on the Renown."

"Your turn, Horatio." Kennedy's good humour returned.

"Well, my father was a doctor and I'm an only child. My father had Captain Keane as a patient so he sent me to him when I was only seventeen. My time as midshipman with Keane wasn't the best as Archie would know. But all of this changed when we were transferred to the Indefatigable. Then I was commissioned here."

"As for me, my father was a Marine colonel. I have a brother and a sister. As a second son, I was sent to sea with Captain Rogers, who was father's friend at fourteen. Then I went to Keane." Kennedy finished. His expression had darkened after the mention of Keane. Cathy noted this with interest.

The rest of the conversation continued on seamanship and navigation. The three lieutenant swapped tricks and techniques. Cathy reflected that the atmosphere in the wardroom was not as light as anyone else would have thought. Below the cheerful companionship was something else that Cathy found hard to place. Whatever Hornblower and Kennedy were discussing before was never revealed between the two, not even with looks.

As the night deepened, conversation ceased. Hornblower excused himself and retired to his berth. Cathy settled down at the wardroom table to complete the daily log of the ship's voyage. Kennedy was content to remain at his seat.

Cathy signed today's entry in the logbook. She stood up, and excused herself. "Excuse me, I believe I shall retire. Good night."

But before she even reached the door, Kennedy's voice ran out.

"Henry Porter," muttered Kennedy. He snorted. "A good story you cooked up, Catherine."

Cathy paused and turned around. Denying won't help, she thought.

"I must say, you are most observant." Cathy answered wryly.

"What in God's name are you doing here in the Navy?!"

Cathy was half surprised that Kennedy didn't stamp his feet and attempted to pull his hair off his head. She walked calmly to him and stood beside him staring unseeingly at the dark ocean. But her stance was not relaxed. Her jaw was set rigid and her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand as they were clasped behind her back. She swallowed her anger at the memory. She stated, "Since you would not believe that I enjoy shipboard life, I should tell the truth. The truth is that I was sent here."

Kennedy seemed perplexed at her nonchalant appearance, but his voice was sardonic, "Really? By whom?"

"My father sent me here into the British Royal Navy."

"Why would you father send you here? For not marrying Edrington?" he mocked.

"My father sent me here, I said I will tell the truth," she repeated simply. She didn't care if Kennedy believed her or not. It was the truth. She didn't even understand why Kennedy would care.

"Why would you care?"

"Why would I care?" He was incredulous. "Didn't I admit to Lady Catherine Hudson, daughter of the Earl of Exeter that I Archibald Kennedy wishes to confess his love for her?!"

Cathy slumped onto the bench while Kennedy sprung from his seat and started pacing agitatedly in front of her. She covered her face with her hands, mumbling incoherently.

"I'm sorry, Archie. I am so sorry. Really, I am sorry. I lied. Lied. I lied. God help me. I'm so sorry, Archie. I really am."

Kennedy was visibly shaken at the effect his words had caused. His eyes dilated. Then his worst suspicion came to light.

"You don't love me. But you made me believe that you did. You seduced me!"

Cathy with extreme effort, stood up and faced him. Suddenly, she was the stately and haughty aristocrat she was. Her nose in the air, her voice able to freeze the oceans, she said, "Believe that you want to believe, Mr. Kennedy, as you have the right to. And good night to you, sir."

She swept angrily out of the wardroom.

The lieutenant berth was cramped. A cot dominated the small space tied on both ends to opposite walls. At the head of the cot was a simply decorated sea chest, but was still the most ornamented object in the room. A simple table with a stack of books and a stool was at the foot of the cot. A lantern placed on the chest cast a weak light in the berth. But Cathy didn't notice the cramped area. Nor did she rejoice that this cramped berth was larger than that of the Charlotte.

Cathy threw her frock coat over the table with her sword and pistols and holsters. She snuffed her lantern in a huff and climbed into her cot, throwing the blankets across her body. She stared at the gently swaying deck above her for a long time before finally falling into a troubled and light sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

One month passed. A fortnight passed. One month and a fortnight passed without incident. The same watches, food and the very same monotonous creaking of the sails and timbers as the Renown continued on her unwavering course towards her destination across the Atlantic. Many of the hands, after much lack of action during the time fell into a state of undisciplined laziness. They became slow to act on orders, even direct orders from exasperated officers, some even took longer to salute and eliminated the 'sir' when addressing an officer. While Catherine had no strong objections towards the minor eliminations, she was sure if prolonged the situation would be in a worse disposition. But their work also became slower and of a less high quality needed to safely run a 74' gun ship-of-the-line, which worried most of the wardroom. However, much to Catherine's surprise and indignation, Captain Sawyer, has simply refused to acknowledge the ill state of his crew. So it fell upon the already worn and weary wardroom lieutenants to set the ship back on her feet and at such an early stage of the voyage.

On a more personal note, Kennedy after his last outburst, has chosen to maintain a casual and kind attitude of a friend, which Catherine was more than happy to comply with.

"As the officer of the watch, do you think fitting to train the men on the extra casks of powder, Mr Porter?"

Buckland slowly made his way down the poopdeck. Catherine turned at the mention of her name.

"Mr Porter?" he prompted.

"Aye, sir. Perhaps the Captain should be told first," answered her.

She glanced at the high waves of the Atlantic. These were not gentle waves lapping against the hull, but neither were they the full nature of the sea, it was only a small demonstration of the awesome terrible powers of Mother Nature. To have a crew familiar with firing broadsides in such high seas was certainly a good asset to have.

"Shall I inform the captain?"

Buckland muttered something under his breath, but out loud he said,  
"Please do so."

Catherine raised her hand to knock on the dark oak door. She paused, hand hung in midair. Her palm felt clammy. Gently, she patted her hands on her jacket, trying to dry the sweat. No captain had made her feel this way before. She has never been afraid of one before. Perhaps knowing clearly that this Captain Sawyer held her life and that of every else aboard did little to prevent such a feeling.

Taking a deep breath, Catherine braced herself and knocked.

"Who is it?"

The Captain's loud thundering voice passed through the door, startling Catherine.

"Lieutenant Porter, sir. Compliments, sir." she answered.

"Come in then."

Catherine stepped gingerly across the threshold, stooping slightly as she did so. She hesitated, catching sight of the captain and Clive sitting with half a decanter of amber liquid.

"Come on, speak up, man!" growled the Captain.

He glared, as usual from small beady eyes. Catherine touched her hat, feeling the strong desire to be away as fast as possible.

"Mr Buckland's compliments, he wonders if the hands should be given practice on the guns using the extra casks of powder."

"Old Buckland can decide that for himself."

Catherine still hesitated. Damn the captain for not giving a straight answer! she thought. She stared at the amber liquid in the glass before the captain.

Dr. Clive swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the best French brandy.

"Join us for a drink, Lieutenant?" asked Clive. He leered at the lieutenant standing before the door. Brandy sloshed in the glass as he waved it in front of him.

Catherine's nostrils flared. She ignored him. But her voice was cool. "Mr Buckland can certainly decide," she agreed.

Abruptly she spun around on her heels and left. Loud drunken laughter flowed from the cabin.

Catherine shaded her eyes from the strong glare of the sun. She could barely make out the tall figure of the first lieutenant peering expectantly down at her from the centre of the quarterdeck.

"Mr. Porter, what does the captain say?"

Catherine glanced at him stiffly. She answered him slowly, "The captain believes that you should make the final decision."

"Really?" Buckland waved his hands about him in a flustered manner. The captain's answered puzzled him greatly. But he was sure no good would come out of it. He sighed, unsure of the next appropriate step.

"Perhaps, we should belay the practice until the captain is in a clearer state," said Catherine dryly.

The junior lieutenant's suggestion seemed sensible enough. But Buckland still hesitated in agreeing. He turned back to Catherine, and answered, "No. I give the order for you to give the men practice."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, unable to comprehend this order as good or bad. Slowly, she touched her hat.

"Gun crews! Man the guns!" she yelled.

The reaction was much slower than Catherine had anticipated. The crew faltered before realising that an order had been given. They heard no drumming or a shout 'beat to quarters'.

"God damn it, man the guns!" another shout resonated from Hornblower, who caught onto the intention of Catherine.

A stampede of many feet crossed the deck. Catherine ran unto the upper gundeck. She glanced at her watch. _14 minutes._ An average man o' war can be fitted for action in only eight minutes. She sighed.

"How long, Mr. Porter?" called Buckland.

"Fourteen, sir."

Wellard skidded to a stop in front of them.

"Mr. Hornblower's …compliments…sir. He ..wonders if the guns should be run out again," puffed Wellard, trying vainly to catch his breath.

Catherine turned to Buckland. But he was saved from answering by a thunderous growling of barely concealed anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" shouted Captain Sawyer. His eyes widened as he focused on the two lieutenants and the midshipman standing before him.

Catherine was painfully aware that the entire ship seems to fall silent, watching the scene unfold before them on the quarterdeck. She was the first to recover. Glancing at Buckland's panicked look in his eyes, she answered with as much composure she could muster, "We thought fitting to run out the guns for practice in the case of imminent action, sir."

"I am here to decide whether the men should be given the practice or not. I am the only person aboard to decide that."

Buckland opened his mouth. But nothing came out.

"Who's idea was this?" Sawyer demanded. Catherine turned her steely gaze onto Buckland, her eyebrow raised.

Sawyer stared at Buckland. Then turned to Catherine.

"Which one of you was it?" he hissed. The voice rose from his throat, expelling from his mouth like an arrow and striking its target squarely through the heart.

Buckland stuttered, torn between protecting himself or his honour. Finally, he said, "..Mr…Porter."

Catherine gripped her watch, ignoring the pain as it dug into her palm. She abruptly turned away from Buckland.

"It was me, sir," she said through gritted teeth.

"With all due respects, but I believe, Mr. Buckland permitted Mr. Porter to act, sir."

Catherine turned at the voice. She could recognise it anywhere, Kennedy.

Sawyer bore himself triumphantly. Shifting his glance from Catherine to Buckland, he nodded. A slight almost imperceptible jerk of the head.

"Well, Mr. Porter. This should teach you." He directed his gaze towards the masthead.

His head whipped back to face Catherine.

"You are to take the first watch and middle watch, from eight tonight to four tomorrow morning, aloft. As for you, Mr. Buckland," Buckland started. "you, the mighty first lieutenant, will also take the first and middle watch with Mr. Porter, and insure that no slackness will be present in the execution of his punishment. That would teach both of you to know better than to grossly disrespect your captain.. And I have ways of knowing whether I have been obeyed or not."

Sawyer gave her one calculating look and left as quickly as he arrived.

Catherine fumed silently, still clutching the watch.

She appeared promptly after dinner, prepared to endure her punishment. Catherine's anger had quickly dissipated after the previous events.

The second last bell of the second dog watch sounded. Disgruntled men hovered below, eager for the watch to end. Even as they travelled further south, the cool air and winds from England still followed them making the ship damp and cold.

Catherine's woollen cloak shielded her well from this cold, but many of the men had little more than their threadbare coats. They thought nothing more than to have quickly gained their warm hammocks in the mess. The place was small, being cramped between the cannons, but it was warm. Other than that, the men were quite content. Good Captain Sawyer who was not fond of using the cat on them. That little scene between Sawyer, Buckland and Catherine was a much needed entertainment.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Catherine slowly turned around. She cracked a crooked smile.

"Mr. Buckland, sir. A warm evening, is it not?" she asked.

Buckland looked at her in disbelief. He took off his hat and scratched his head, slowly.

"No? If you want to take a watch in the middle of the night, it would be much more pleasant if it was warm," she continued.

"What I need is a stiff drink," muttered Buckland.

Even to her at present, Buckland's gross dishonour has been justified by the captain appointing him as the second officer of the watch with her. Despite her current state, she still could crack a small smile at the obvious resentment and humiliation of Buckland. Catherine had to admit, the captain was still a smart man in some ways.

As the eight bells sounded to end the dogwatch, Catherine promptly climbed aloft onto the mizzentop. The area was cramped and allowed only standing space. The sailor there stared at her in amazement as she climbed on from the shrouds.

"Sir?"

"You are relieved from this position, I'm to take the watch here for the next two watches," she said simply. "Go down below."

The man grinned as he went over the side. Catherine sobered. The rocking of the ship on high seas was felt more strongly on the mizzen then below. She held onto the mast with one hand, as she tried to regain her balance on the precariously set platform. Peering into the darkness, nothing could be seen. Not another ship was within miles of the Renown. Catherine relaxed slightly.

The image of the fourteen minutes on the watch was branded into her mind. Twice the time needed for any other average man o' war. If no action occurs for the rest of the voyage, what would happen when they were finally going to confront the enemy at the end of the voyage? She shifted her position slightly, transferring some weight to her left leg.

The eight hours passed in a whirl. She was kept awake by the constant fear of falling. Her legs were stiff from lack of space. But at least in the whirlwind of troubled thoughts and physical discomfort, the time passed quickly enough. Catherine slid down the last few riggings and landed awkwardly onto the deck. She straightened her coat, tucked her glass under one arm, and marched onto the quarterdeck. Sawyer, it seems, has taken pains to wake at such unearthly hours to witness the punishment. Obviously, at the end of her punishment she was in a much worse state of mind than she had mounted the mizzentop and not just because of her physical discomfort.

More than ever before, Catherine felt scared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Sail ahoy to larboard!" shouted the watch from the mizzentop.

Catherine's heart sank to her toes. She rushed clutching her glass to the opposite side of the deck.

"French colours?" asked Catherine as she stood next to Kennedy, searching for the ship with her glass.

"Yes. Frigate. She's sailing away from us."

Catherine felt a rough hand, shove her away from the rail. She stumbled. Brushing away the officers gathered, Sawyer pulled out his own glass.

"We give chase." He whipped around. He yelled, "Give chase!"  
Buckland did not reply.

Sawyer's eyes began to widen. His nostrils flared. Colour rose onto pallid cheeks.

Catherine took one last glance at the fast diminishing shape of the frigate through her glass. She looked at the captain's expression.

"All hands to loosen all sail." Her voice carried around the ship. Sawyer gave her an unreadable expression. Her order echoed around as the master repeated it, then followed by the bosun. The hands moved, with agonizing slowness so Catherine thought, unto the shrouds to unfurl the remaining sails.

Catherine peered again at the French ship. It was barely within view and still fast disappearing. A frigate would always be more manoeuvrable than the heavier set ships of the line. And with windward advantage and a headstart, the Renown had few chances of catching up with her even with all sails and a credible crew.

But nothing was said. Sawyer had the Renown sailing after the frigate long after she disappeared over the horizons at least ten miles away. Finally, Sawyer admitted defeat, demanding that any signs of a ship be reported to him. Little did anyone aboard foresaw that this was only the start.

Breakfast, as usual, in the wardroom was a silent and gloomy affair. Buckland, being the most senior officer was seated at the head of the table directly in front of the stern windows. The others were seated, two on each side, according to seniority. Cathy being the junior lieutenant was at the end closest to the door, opposite to Kennedy and besides Hornblower.

Cathy absentmindedly, played with her scrambled eggs on her plate while tapping her weevil infested biscuit against the table. She watched the pests finally fall off her biscuit before starting on her eggs. Since the minute she set foot out of her berth this morning, a feeling of foreboding plagued her mind. The rough weather matched her portentous feeling. She felt the rough seas heave under her feet. The Renown was tossed roughly around like flotsam.

As the morning progressed, the waves rose higher and higher as did Cathy's feeling of foreboding. She had gone about her duties with such a distracted air that her senior officers had looked worriedly at her and made Sawyer criticise her further. But nothing occurred that would explain her feeling.

Six bells sounded for the forenoon watch, the sea was so high, and waves continually broke over the sides of the ship even drenching the lieutenants standing on the quarterdeck. Cathy's frock coat felt clammy and wet against her skin and she constantly had to empty her cocked hat of water collected inside the brim.

The Renown under heavy sail, rose and fell at a far faster speed than that was safe for such weather. The ship's bow broke through another wave and the entire ship shuddered. The riggings were taunt and looked about to snap under the strain. Cathy observed the riggings carefully and came to the conclusion that topsails needed to be removed.

Bush, second lieutenant and officer of the watch came to the same conclusion, glancing at the others grouped around, he remarked, "We have to take some sail off her."

Hornblower protested, "But the Captain loves a stiff breeze."

"But this is more than a stiff breeze." All the lieutenants were observing the riggings anxiously.

Hornblower gave way, and stated matter-of-factly, "But the Captain needs to be informed first."

Bush gave him a strange look, then turned to Cathy and ordered, "Mr. Porter, inform the Captain, if you please."

"Aye, aye, sir." Cathy touched her now drenched hat turning towards the great cabin. She rapped several times on the door before Sawyer growled a sharp, 'come in'. Entering the cabin, she quickly tucked her hat under her arm. Adjusting to the dimness, Cathy caught sight of Sawyer sitting behind the table. He stared expectantly at her and asked impatiently, "What is it, Mr. Porter?"

"Mr. Bush's compliments, sir, he wants to shorten sail."

The Captain did not answer. Instead, he snatched his hat off its hook and stormed out of the cabin. Cathy filed behind him, even more troubled.

Once Sawyer was on deck, he thundered, "You want to take some sail, Mr. Bush!"

Cathy held her breath. A pause.

"With your permission, of course." was Bush's careful reply in his nonchalant voice.

Cathy finally let out the breath she had been holding. Sawyer gave him another calculating look before ordering, "Very well, Mr. Bush, call all hands."

"All hands to reef topsail!" almost at once, a flurry of roars and shouts of 'pull pull' descended on the deck. Sailors clambered up the shrouds to the named sail.

Suddenly, there was a loud ripping sound. Cathy's head snapped up. Squinting against the bright sunlight, she noticed the large rip running from the top of the sail. Worriedly, it grew larger at every pull. She was about to tell Mr. Bush when Wellard, who had climbed the shrouds to supervise the whole process, shouted, "Hold it! Hold it."

At once all activity ceased. The pulling stopped. The men all stopped tugging at the sails on the yards. And the Captain raised his head to look at the reef top, shading his eyes. Cathy's feeling of foreboding rose to its zenith.

The lieutenants grouped around the quarterdeck glanced in solicitude at each other, as Sawyer raised his voice at who had, in his opinion, so rudely countermanded his order.

"Who countermanded my orders!" thundered Sawyer. Cathy prayed silently under her breath. God bless Wellard, she thought.

"I'll teach you to countermand me!" Sawyer became more angered at Wellard's apparent calmness.

"There's a rip in the sail, sir." Hornblower broke in.

"What do you mean by countering between me and a man who disobeys me?" Sawyer was incensed.

"Mr. Wellard was only doing his duty, sir."

"Get down now!" Sawyer sputtered in anger. Cathy's hold on her glass tightened.

In those few moments both men clambered down the shrouds, a feeling of anticipation cloaked the entire ship, even the waves ceased to break onto the quarterdeck. Sawyer thundered to Wellard and Hornblower, "Get below, both of you."

As the two filed below, Sawyer gave each of his lieutenants around him a warning look, as if you say, if-you-dare-countermand-me-watch-what-happens.

"Mr. Bush send a … hand to clear the reef topsail."

"Aye, aye sir."

"Mr. Buckland, call all hands to lay aft here."

Cathy frowned.

"All hands! Lay aft here!" shouted Buckland.

The crew was whistled and stood in a disorderly way on the maindeck, staring up at the quarterdeck where the Captain stood saluted against the light.

"I know where loyalty is to be found men. I've seen it. I see it now. I see your loyal hearts. I see your unremitting labours, as I watch everything on this ship." He paused. Cathy raised her eyebrow. He continued with renewed rigour. "Traitors meet their just deserts. And loyal hearts meet their rewards."

Cathy's raised eyebrow turned into a worried frown. Her grip on her glass tightened again.

"We'll splice the main brace! A ton of rum to every man! And a ton of rum to every boy!"

Cathy glanced at the cheering crew. Another emotion came to light. She smiled bitterly. How ironic she thought. After all, all men are self-interested.

"Rum on the falling watch," remarked Kennedy. Cathy glance sharply at him but said nothing.

…..

"Lay aft here, Mr. Matthews and bring your mate with you." Sawyer ordered.

Cathy watched in silence as he tried the bosun's cane on his own hand.

"Give Mr. Wellard a dozen, Mr. Matthews."

Cathy's eyes widened. She had seen beatings all her life. She had seen fellow midshipmen been beaten. She herself had ordered it. She has had never felt much greatly disturbed by it, because it was for valid reason. But this time she was. Any other Captain would have let Wellard off without a word or only a word of warning to notify him first.

Cathy watched helplessly as Wellard was led away. She watched him bend over the cannon's barrel. She watched Styles grip his hand and saw the first strike of Matthews' cane. She stood silently on the quarterdeck counting each strike of the cane. Her fingers tapped continuously on her glass.

Kennedy was equally distraught. His usually cheerful face marred by an expression of shock and anger. For once Bush was disturbed, eyes downcast. Buckland was also perturbed, hands gripping the railing until his knuckles were white. Every other member of the crew was equally disquieted as they witnessed Wellard's beating, with the exception of Hobbs division who wore looks of satisfaction.

One….two….three….four….five….six….seven…..eight….nine….ten….eleven…twelve.

Cathy finished counting the same time as Buckland called out, "Twelve."

"That's it, twelve." Hobbs said contemptuously.

Cathy feeling concerned for Wellard waited for him to appear on deck. But Hornblower arrived first.

"Mr. Hornblower, sir." She addressed him formally. His face was set rigid.

"Mr. Porter, I'm afraid you and the others would not need to take your watches for some time to come," he answered coolly. Cathy frowned.

"I'm sorry sir, continuous watch!" Hornblower nodded.

"You have been punished too?" asked Kennedy. His features still carried the worried air he had with Wellard's beating.

"It's the Captain's way. Continuous watch for the next thirty six hours."

"I shall have no idlers on my deck!" growled the Captain, as he noticed, Cathy, Hornblower and Kennedy grouped at the far side of the deck.

"I shall have no idlers on my deck." Kennedy mimicked. His features screwed together in a scowl.

"Kennedy!" Hornblower gave him a warning look and stalked away onto the poop deck.

"Did you think that was fair?" muttered Kennedy.

"What was fair, Kennedy?"

"The punishments."

"It's the captain's method." Cathy answered him carefully. "We're not here to question it."

He was dumbfounded.

"Be an opportunist," continued Cathy. She spotted Wellard. He was stiff and seemed unable to bend his legs. He tottered around looking lost.

"Mr. Wellard? How about you run the minute glass against the half hour glass?" Cathy asked him pleasantly, making her way over to him. Kennedy joined her and muttered in Wellard's ear, "It'll keep off the pain."

Wellard looked gratefully at both lieutenants. "Thank you, sir."

"Good man, sir." Cathy patted him on the shoulder.

While they walked back to their former positions on the deck, Kennedy remarked, "Poor boy, Wellard."

Cathy nodded absentmindedly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Catherine woke to the loud footsteps on the deck above her. The air hung heavy with humidity. She could distinctly feel the erratic heaving of the ship. Only one coherent thought formed. No! A bitter taste of fear permeated her mouth. She bit her lip. Adrenaline rushed into her blood.

As fast as she can manage, she pulled on her clothing. In her haste she barely has her oilskin hung over her shoulders before she arrived on deck. Planting her hat firmly on her head, she arrived  
breathless.

The rain fell in buckets that created a sheet of mist shrouding the entire ship. Tall freak waves cascaded over the sides. The deck heaved with vengeance. Catherine gripped onto a beam with one hand whilst shielding her eyes from the rain with the other. She did not have to squint long at the masts to known that the Renown was carrying too much canvas. Far too much.

Slipping and skidding across the wet deck, Catherine ran towards the quarterdeck.

"Mr. Bush, Mr. Buckland and Mr. Kennedy," she greeted, touching her hat. Bush merely glanced at her.

"Mr. Porter," he droned. The others said nothing. Kennedy gave her a strained smile.

"Horatio's division is furling the double reef topsails," answered Kennedy.

"Has the captain..." she began.

Kennedy nodded. She felt a little of the clenching if her stomach lessens. Another wave crashed over the ship, drenching all on board. The wind hit full on, pulling the sails taunt against the lines. The helm spun out of control besides them.

Catherine paid it no attention. She focused on the hunched figures of the hands aloft desperately trying to secure the sail against the yardarm. Hornblower's frame stood under the rain at the foot of the mizzen.

A strong hand pushed past her. She started to see Sawyer, hatless and coatless, appear on deck under the rain.

"I ordered you to inform me when shortening sail," he shouted above the noise.

Hornblower gave a quiet reply. Another shout from the captain.  
"Hobbs!"

All eyes turned to the gunner.

Sawyer continued, "Do you ever have difficulty in interpreting my orders?"

Hobbs' answer was clear.

"No, sir. Never sir."

Hornblower gave another quite reply.

Catherine studied Sawyer's expression at his words. What she saw, made her stomach tighten into a ball. All her previous brief respite of relief vanished.

Sawyer pulled his eyes away from Hornblower, aloft. Catherine ground her teeth, tightening her grip on the beam overhead.

"You lubbers up there, the last of you to land on deck gets a flogging!" he called. He cupped his mouth with his hands, magnifying his voice. There was no possibility of someone not hearing.

Catherine squinted into the sheets of the rain. It was too thick. But she could hear well enough over the rain. There was a scraping of feet, then followed by loud clunks of the belaying pins hitting the yardarm.

The ship gave a sickening lurch. Ropes skidded across the deck. The cannons veered from their positions, tightening against retraining ropes. Anything left on deck that was not tied down, skidded across the deck.

Suddenly, making everyone jump, a sickening crunch sounded a mere several feet away from the startled officers nestled in the shelter created by the poop deck.

Catherine did not need to think to know the source of the sound. Bitter vile rose in her throat. She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her dinner down. A midshipman puked, realizing that the figure lying across his feet was that of a human. There was a firm grip on her wrist. She pulled her eyes away from the body to see Kennedy beside her.

"You were falling," he said simply. Catherine looked away, muttering a pitiful apology.

As fast as she dared, she darted from her position to the still body. As if through a distant haze, she heard Matthews call out, "He's dead, sir."

Catherine's mind was heavy. As if through a thick haze, she heard footsteps approaching, heard Clive's monotone declaration of dead. She gazed down at the sailor, a mere boy even younger than her, much younger. His eyes were still open in an unseeingly stare. But his youthful contours of the face rested in a serene expression free from worry. Free from all worry by death. She did not even know the man's name, but she felt the pain of his loss. He had a mother, a father or maybe even a young woman waiting, probably. Now that has been taken away from him.

"Get the man off my quarterdeck. Throw him overboard."

Sawyer's voice pierced the haze of her mind, it sliced Catherine like a physical wound. She could almost feel the blood flowing from the wound, opening a haemorrhage.

There was no reply. Neither were there any actions to comply with Sawyer's words.

"Throw the man overboard, Mr. Hornblower."

Sawyer's words twisted the sword already in her stomach. Men were always lost at sea. But this was different. Somehow the death of this one particular sailor under these circumstances was different.

But this was the Royal Navy. Protocol was everything. Catherine looked at Hornblower.

"Waiting won't bring him back, Horatio," said Kennedy softly.

The man's jaw was set stiff. There was no doubt his teeth was ground together. Hornblower's nails dug into his palm. Angry, red marks blotched his palm. Slowly, he rose from his crouch next to the dead sailor. Dark, fathomless eyes turned to the captain. He met Sawyer's gaze in unwavering determination. Sawyer's eyes narrowed.

"Aye, aye, sir." Hornblower, accompanying his words with a small doff of his hat.

Sawyer's lips thinned, "Carry on then, Mr. Hornblower."

Hornblower tore himself away from holding Sawyer's gaze. He addressed Matthews, "Throw him overboard. I'll make sure he is given a reading after we wait out the storm."

A salute from Matthews ended the exchange.

"Mr. Hobbs, get your men to furl the rest of the sail."

Catherine looked at Sawyer in surprise and agitation.

As the Renown continued, still with more sail than she should have, through the storm she was nearly panicking. Catherine felt as if she was acting in a haze, but her mind seemed clear at the same time.

"T'gallant, footloose!" cried a seaman, waving to attract the attention of the quarterdeck.

Catherine's heart jumped into her throat. If the sail was not secured in due time, the Renown would lose a mast. She turned to Bush.

"Secure the sail, Mr. Porter."

"All hands to t'gallant sail!" She was sure everyone heard the desperate hysteria in her voice. She turned on Matthews and shouted, "Pipe the damn order!"

Matthews stared at her, before reacting. The men of her own division mounted the shrouds. The topgallant was the second highest sail on the mainmast. Catherine found herself gripping the beam with all the force she could muster. The wood cut painfully into her hand, but she neither knew nor cared. The sickening crunch of the body land on the deck still rang in her ears, despite the loud sounds of the storm ridden ship.

Fortunately, after a few nerve-racking minutes, the footloose sail was secured with no interference from Sawyer or any accidents. But Catherine still did not relax her hold.

Every crack of lightning and every sound hit Catherine's nerves with vigour. Her overstretched nerves twanged and reverberated after every hit. Everything spelled the end. Adrenaline continued to pump into her bloodstream. She was not acting on conscience thoughts. Instinctively, she acted, giving orders and reacting to orders.

The storm only exhausted itself far into the night and into the following morning. At four bells of the morning watch. The sea settled into a calmness that was so startling different, Catherine could not bring herself to believe it. Her body was weighted down with the remnants of the adrenaline during the long stormy night. Her nerves were still pulled taunt like the lines of the sails during the storm.

Catherine could only stare dully as slowly, the men off watch went below for some much needed sleep after the long night. Her oilskin was still slick with rain, as she ran her hand over it, bringing herself to the reality of the past night. Soon, she became aware of the dampness of her coat, seeping slowly into her waistcoat and shirt. She shivered. It chilled her to the bone. Catherine sighed.

Gradually, rousing herself, Catherine made her way following her men below deck to her berth, wishing for a change of clothes. She did not see he huddle of men in the unobtrusive corner of the mess between the cannons. But she did notice with surprise at the muted silence of the messdeck. Surely, the men did not simply fall dead. They did not have the luxury of having a cot hung out for them like the officers, they had to unroll and secure their hammocks. It was impossible for them to be settled and asleep in such a short time. Instinctively, Catherine's ears perked up, picking up the slightest sounds.

She was sure there was no snoring, instead as she listened close enough, she could hear a distinctive sound like wind forcing its way through a crack in the timbers. But Catherine was sure this was no wind.

It was the sound of whispering.

Catherine felt cold all over. She listened closer, picking out words like 'captain', 'killed', 'removed' and 'mad'. She did not wait to hear more, she cleared her throat loudly, descending down the last rugs of the ladder.

The group huddled in the corner spun around to face the intruder. Catherine, studying their faces, was immensely surprised by who she saw. There were two midshipmen, Wellard and another by the name of Mason. Matthews and his mates were there. She recognised most of the men were from Hornblower's division. The remaining few were from her division and several others.

Catherine sighed, tugging uneasily at her sleeve. If she was to confront them, they would no doubt deny it. If she asked them individually, they would also deny it. If she dismissed them, worse was possibly to come. The group all stared expectantly. But studying their faces, Catherine could not detect any trace of fear.

"Mr. Wellard, Mr. Mason, men, what were you whispering about? Not gossiping at such an unearthly hour?" asked Catherine, casually. But her eyes carried more weight than her voice. Her steely gray eyes were hard. It was a warning clear as any.

"Sir," greeted Mason.

"Get some rest, men. You would need it," cut in Catherine. When none of the men moved, she raised her voice, "Come on men and get some rest...that is an order."

She waited until all the men have disbanded, heading in separated directions. Then, slowly, hunched slightly, she made her way to her own her quarters. Catherine hung her wet oilskin on a hook. She pulled on a somewhat drier coat from her sea chest.

Suddenly, the drums started to beat. A fast running beat. Footsteps were heard running across the deck above her. A shout of "two French frigates."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was enough t throw off Catherine's weariness. Once again, the bitter taste of fear permeates her mouth. Adrenaline pumps into her blood. Once again, she found herself hurtling onto the deck, stumbling in her haste, clapping on her still damp hat.

"Mr. Porter, man your guns," ordered Hornblower, as she rushed onto deck. Not answering, Catherine touched her hat.

She rushed across the broadside she was commanding. The men's movements were sluggish. As she gave the order to load, she realised that the powder has not even arrived. Cursing, she peered through the gun port. Thankfully, the French frigates could not be seen. At least not yet.

Catherine's skin felt clammy and cold. She gave an uncontrollable shudder. Her head felt heavy. But the adrenaline was still fresh in her blood. She concluded that it would keep her running for some time yet.

Taking the ladder, two at a time, she climbed onto the quarterdeck, hoping to catch sight of the ships. Spotting Buckland and Kennedy by the railing, she hurried towards them.

Kennedy spun around and demanded, "Why isn't the guns brought to bear yet?"

Catherine gritted her teeth, annoyed, "With all due respects, sir, the powder hasn't even come yet."

Had not the crew been so ill disciplined and lazy, they would not be in this situation. If they had a captain who was to acknowledge the importance of discipline instead of...

"They're going to cross out stern at any moment."

Buckland's stricken voice broke Catherine's train of thoughts. It sent Kennedy and Catherine without hesitation running towards the rail where Buckland stood transfixed. She was about to mentally shout out an infinite number of profanities at him before she too saw that he saw.

The two Frenchmen, one behind the other, bore down upon the helpless form of the Renown. They were so close she could see the dark forms of the men on deck. Catherine found herself mesmerised by fear. Immediately the string of profanities trailed off. She murmured, quietly, "God, they're fast."

If the ships were to bring her guns to bear, sail across the stern of the Renown and rake her, the Renown stood no chance. The cannons fired by a 36' gun at close range have the possibility of eighty percent of hitting its target. If the other ship was to follow suit, then the stern of the Renown would be noting but completely obliterated. Her heart thumping in her throat, she found herself seized by terror of capture. She stared at the waves as if it was going to be her last look at freedom.

"Get the guns to bear, Mr. Porter."

Kennedy's voice pulled Catherine away from her thoughts. He mind, gradually gained its ability to think rationally. The Renown needs to tack. Her only chance stood with keeping the frigate at a distance and turning a broadside towards them.

"Aye, sir." Spinning around, Catherine nearly slid down the ladder in her haste back onto the gundeck. Slowly, she felt the ship tack to the starboard side.

"Mr. Stuart!" she hailed the midshipman to whom she left command of the broadside. "Is the guns brought to bear?"

Without hesitation, Stuart answered, "Aye, sir."

The guns crews hovered around the guns. Their impertinence and ignorance sent Catherine flying over the edge. Grinding her teeth together, she shouted, "Look lively men!"

Catherine directed her anger towards screaming 'load' at the top of her voice. It seemed to be able to bring the men from their lethargy. She wanted to stamp her feet. She yelled again, "Come on, look lively!"

"Frenchmen bringing their guns to bear, sir!" warned Stuart. Catherine started. They can't see the Renown helpless with guns barely loaded, she thought.

Suddenly, there was a single shot. It seems Hornblower had managed to prepare his guns. Catherine anticipated the cannonade sure to follow. But none came. Inspecting the Frenchmen and the waters around the ships, she could not spot a splash or the distinct splintering of the shot hitting its target. Hornblower was shooting without shot. Delaying no further, she shouted, ignoring that not all guns have finished loading, "Run out!"

The ship rocked to the starboard side as tons of metal and wood rolled to their gunports.

"Take aim!"

Catherine allowed a small pause in her orders.

"Fire!"

The gun that lay most aft in the gundeck fired first. The cannon retracting back, trying to loosen its bounds of rope. There was a splash. The shot fell short of its target by several feet. Catherine called, "Raise elevation!"

"Sir?"

She turned at Stuart's voice, "Yes?" she replied tersely.

"Frenchmen bearing further, sir!"

Nodding slightly, she peered through the gunport. Sure enough, both French ships were tacking leewards away from the Renown. One more shot, she thought.

"Next fire!"

The men next to the cannon who had just fired hesitated.

"Fire!" she repeated.

A loud shot erupted into the air. Another one of Hornblower's. Catherine hurried to peer through the gunports. It missed the first frigate by a yard. Then another followed. It hit its target squarely on the corner of the stern. Then finally, another of shot ran out. Her gun. This one hit the hull of the same frigate just above the waterline.

"Frenchmen out of range, sir!" announced Stuart. "She ran away, sir."

Catherine cracked a small split-second smile at the words of the thirteen year old midshipman's. Though, she herself was quite pleased with the 'running away' of the enemy frigate.

"Alright, men, it seems our short engagement is over. Long may it remain," said Catherine, addressing Stuart, and "Mr. Stuart, see that the powder and shot properly stowed and guns tied and secured, please."

Stuart looked up surprised. But nonetheless pleased with being charged with such a task. "Aye, sir."

Catherine nodded wearily.

No word could effectively decide the state of the Renown. On the quarterdeck, disgruntled officers rushed to and fro. Sawyer was spitting out orders in a contemptuous voice, unsatisfied at the work being done. It seems that while the Renown did minor damage to the stern of one of the French frigates, the Frenchman in return had also done damage to the Renown in return, however this damage could be accounted as being of a more serious nature.

The strong odour of gun powder still hung in the air, stifling Catherine. The mayhem fell onto deaf ears. Two of the halyards have snapped in the brief engagement with the enemy and one of the main sails hung footloose from the yards, flapping forlornly in the wind. She saw no reason to further contribute to the mess on the deck, and proceeded to the poop trying desperately to gain some peace. As the adrenaline quickly left her bloodstream, she felt wearier than ever and not only from the lack of sleep. These two days felt too long.

Too tired to think, too engrossed in staring at the white froth that trailed in the wake of the ship, Catherine did not notice footsteps behind her. She did not notice Kennedy until he was standing right beside her at the taffrail in a state of mind not similar to her own.

Men organizing mutinous assembly, an easily provoked captain, not to mention the incompetence of the crew and its leader, was too much.

"So many things have happened in barely two days, unconnected but very connected," murmured Kennedy. One word appeared in her mind, a name. Sawyer.

Her own words echoed through her mind. Be an opportunist. Hollow. Empty. Catherine, not trusting herself to speak anything else, echoed the same phrase.

"Be an opportunist, Archie. Be an opportunist."

Kennedy, glanced at her surprised. Chuckling slightly, he answered, "I must say how stoutly to stick to that belief."

Catherine said nothing, elapsing into silence.

"You conspired against me! You and Hornblower conspired against me, your rightful commander!"

Sawyer's infamous thunderous roar reached Catherine's ears. As if someone had brought a whip down onto her back, it tore Catherine away from her reverie. Composing herself as best a she could, she schooled her expression. The captain's words spell nothing but trouble. One step in from of the other, she crossed the poop. To her curiosity and fear, it was agonizing, these few small steps.

As Catherine planted her feet firmly onto the quarterdeck, she found herself staring eye her eye with the captain. Sawyer's eyes bore into her own. She was sure her steely eyes shown a great deal of indifference. Catherine touched her hat. But whatever the captain saw was not as she expected. His eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips. But allowed her to pass.

At the binnacle of the deck, stood Wellard stooped. Hornblower had placed himself behind him, but a little way off. Not close enough to confirm any suspicions, but far enough to enable him to hear anything muttered by the captain to Wellard. Tactical, thought Catherine. She placed himself a few paces behind Sawyer at the rail overlooking the gundeck below. Her ears strained to hear what Sawyer was to say next.

Abruptly, Sawyer spun around.

"Oh, yes, you and that Hornblower, plotted against me. Plotted to have the halyard snap several weeks ago so to make me seem like a fool in front of the hands! And the firing of the guns without shot."

This time his voice was lowered. His head lent forwards, hands gripped tightly together behind his back. He muttered to himself, assuring himself of the validity of this accusation. Catherine held her breath.

"Now, which one of you was it?"

"No one, it was no one, sir."

Wellard's fearful voice broke in, trying desperately to clear the abominable accusation.

"No one, sir." Sawyer imitated Wellard's voice. Catherine could imagine Sawyer's expression, even though she could not see it. A mask of contempt with eyes filled with suspicion, framed by white hair ready to pounce at anyone who dared to cross him.

There was silence.

Sawyer snorted. "So you pretend to hide your face because of the guilt written on it. What do you mean no one, sir? There was a plot behind this infamous affair."

Catherine bit her lip.

"Sir, in fact I gave orders so that Mr. Wellard would not be idle."

Kennedy. Catherine clamped her teeth on her bottom lip. The copper task of blood flooded her voice. She planted her feet firmly on the deck, preventing herself to turn around.

"You are sadly mistaken if you see any good in this young fellow, Mr. Kennedy."

Sawyer paused. "Or unless, you too are part of this affair."

Catherine's eyes widened. No!

"Sir, I merely observed..."

Not letting Kennedy finish. She spun around, "Kindly keep your mouth shut, sir."

Catherine clamped her mouth together. It was too late. This was the Royal Navy. Her eyes flickered to Sawyer.

"I see that you, Mr. Porter, recognise the severity of the offence of Mr. Wellard."

Catherine's eyes widened momentarily as Sawyer looked at her. There was an imperceptible nod of the head. She might have gained Sawyer's approval, but it made it impossible for her to help redeem Wellard. She saved Kennedy at the sacrifice of Wellard and possibly Hornblower. The captain turned to Bush.

"What do you think, Mr. Bush? You must agree with Mr. Porter and I."

Bush was suddenly engrossed with the brass on his glass.

"Well?"

He finally looked up. "Wellard won't know the jibe from the spankerboom, sir."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. Defending Wellard?

"You are too honest, Mr. Bush. I knew it the first time I saw you. You cannot believe what these...poisonous young reptiles are capable of."

He turned back to Catherine.

"Mr. Porter, how about another dozen for Mr. Wellard? We must dredge the truth out of him."

Catherine did not answer. "Sir, I agree that Mr. Wellard knows nothing. He may have snapped the halyard due to his idiocy."

Sawyer's eyes flared dangerously. "I thought Commodore Foster's nephew could do much better than that. Then Mr. Porter, arrange to have Mr. Wellard have another dozen to pay for his...idiocy. Then, he shall coo like a dove. Coo like a dove."

Catherine cursed herself. Firstly, she jeopardized herself to defend Kennedy. Then she came with the weakest possible defence of Wellard. And it all came from her, who she prided herself as being quick witted and in control. Having nothing, foolish or smart, to say. She reluctantly touched her hat.

"Mr. Matthew's lay aft here with your mate!"

Sawyer turned back to the unfortunate Wellard.

"Get below!" he ordered, then as an afterthought, "You too, Hornblower."

Catherine saw Wellard turn to her. She gave him a small shake of her head. I'm sorry. But he has already turned away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

One..

Two..

Three..

Four..

Catherine found herself again counting the strikes hitting Wellard. But this time, she stood not on the quarterdeck, but beside Sawyer witnessing every strike. She grimaced in her mind as another strike landed. Every strike just as raw to her as it was to the poor boy.

Five..

Six..

Each strike accompanied one emotion. Anger. She clenched her hands. With each hit, her nails dug deeper into her flesh. But the pain could not justify anything. Be an opportunist. Her own words echoed again in her mind. Catherine could gag with laughter. Opportunities never rise of its own accord. She of all people should know.

There was a dull thump. Wellard's head fell onto the cannon. Matthew's cane hung in midair.

"Sir?" He looked to the captain.

Sawyer turned to Clive.

"Well?"

Clive said nothing. His face impassive. But it was not hard to judge his state of mind. Torn between need to please the captain and his medical opinion, Catherine thought.

"Do I proceed, sir?" asked Matthews.

"It's quite simple Dr. Clive, Mr. Matthews has beaten Mr. Wellard insensible. Does he continue?"

Hornblower gritted his teeth, jaws stiff.

Sawyer pressed his lips together. Catherine cut in, "Sir, there is no point in continuing this punishment when Mr. Wellard is insensible."

Sawyer turned to her. "Very well, punishment ended."

He walked away, calling, "Mr. Hornblower, get back on watch."

He was going to kill both of them, concluded Catherine.

********  
The sun shone brightly on hatless heads. All the men stood in orderly lines in their respective divisions. Though it was nothing an army could pride itself of, but in the navy it was no small feat, as except for days like this and a handful of special occasions, sailors had no order. Men hovered everywhere that was except for the quarterdeck reserved for the officers. Everyone was in their best Sunday clothes. For most of the men, it was a freshly brushed coat and hat, for the officers it was a dress coat.

And this day was Sunday. Everyone gathered for the weekly reading of the Articles of War. While some especially religious captains managed to fit in a small service, most dedicated the day to the all important Articles. Sawyer it seems, take great pleasure in these days.

"Article nineteen, if any officer, mariner or soldier should make any mutinous assembly under any pretence whatsoever...shall suffer death."

The word 'death' was uttered in a manner of particular vigour. It seems to resonate and echo in the very air around the Renown. The image of a corpse in a clean, brushed uniform with brass buttons appeared in Catherine's head. Its head hung deathly elongated. A rope connected to a beam. It was a yardarm and the body swung. She gritted her teeth, pushing the image from her mind.

"If any such person is condemned by the sentence of a court-martial, every such person.." droned the captain. He paused before spitting out the words, "shall suffer death."

Here he took care to look up and stare with rigour at everyone standing before him.

"If any person is to utter any words of sedition or mutiny, any such person shall suffer death. And if any officer, mariner or soldier are to behave with contempt towards a superior officer or disobey a direct order, any person sentenced as such shall suffer death."

Catherine chewed on her lip, suddenly anxious. Her outburst may not have been missed entirely. Sawyer suddenly spoke which took her completely by surprise.

"I shall have everyone know that these apply to my officers as much as to anyone else."

Catherine turned to the captain. But he said nothing more of it.

"Mr. Buckland, we'll splice the main brace and part duty to every man. Double rum for all these good men!"

Cheering rose, loud and deafening, Catherine ground her teeth together.

Every creaking of the timbers sounded painfully loud. Every sway and beaming of the Renown was felt. Cutlery clinked dully. The loud noise of the crew on deck was muted.

Catherine gripped her knife painfully hard. The salty beef tasted like dust in her mouth. Rum no longer burned her throat.

Every dinner since the first aboard the Renown had been like this. Silent. Except for the first where nonsensical talk had taken place. But at each dinner the silence progressed thicker and thicker until it was pressing in upon everyone present. There was nothing to be talked about. The past was impossible and ridiculous under present circumstances. The present was unbearable. The future...Well Catherine doubted there was any future.

As the Renown sailed further south, the sun rose higher and burnt done upon the ship. The air became warmer. Catherine knew it was the middle of January, but here down south, it hardly mattered. But instead of the warmer weather, raising the morale of the ship's officers and crew, it decreased. Catherine's coat itched against her skin, the fabric far thicker than was comfortable in such weather. While on the quarterdeck, the heat was mercifully dispersed by the fresh sea breeze, in the wardroom it was unbearable, making dinners worse than before.

The lieutenants have left the door open to the wardroom. But the air was still. It pressed in upon them just like the silence, stifling and unbearable.

Catherine tugged at her necktie. She was sure it was not tied more tightly than usual. She tugged some more, trying vainly to loosen it. The smooth, constricting necktie, felt like coarse, rugged rope strangling her neck. But it just would not come loose. Finally, Catherine lowered her hand with a sigh.

Cutlery fell onto a plate with a sharp clang. It stung. Slowly, nonchalant with composure, Catherine raised her head from her plate.

At the head of the table, Buckland's knife and fork sat on the edge of his plate of untouched food. A little too innocently. His lips pressed together tighter than ever before. Fingers wrapped around a napkin with unyielding force. On his right, Bush had a speared piece of beef halfway to his mouth in a comical gesture. Kennedy has split his wine. Wine stained his napkin like blood as he ineffectively wiped it from the table. Hornblower found it necessary to study his piece of beef, pale and exhausted. Catherine's eyes turned to her own hand. Her right hand held her knife in a casual grip. The blade and pointed tip gleamed in the dimming light. It was posed to strike.

Hornblower looked up, "I believe I shan't let the captain miss my presence above deck."

Quickly, he scooted out of the room. Catherine carefully placed her knife down.

The sharp clap of wood hitting skin as it cried out in protest. The precariously swinging mizzentop. The numbness and pain to follow. A sickening crunch of body hitting the deck. The very sound of the grim reaper's sickle. Through this whirlwind of sound, her hands shook with anger, fear, she knew not.

She forced her hands to stop, grasping her napkin. As her mind orientated back to the wardroom, she picked up her knife. Slowly, she speared the beef with her fork. Her knife drew across it, slicing it. Blood oozed from the wound. The beef brought just to boil still has remnants of blood. It spilt out of the cut as she brought the knife across it again. It gave her pleasure. The knife suddenly screeched as it saw across the plate. Mechanically, Catherine placed it in her mouth.

Soon, unaware of the stares from the others, beef, peas and carrots on her plate has all but disappeared.

"Mr. Porter, I cannot believe the appetite you have," remarked Kennedy, still holding his bloodstained, no, wine-stained napkin.

Catherine looked up. She met his gaze. Simply, she said, "We have to eat despite everything."

Buckland's lips thinned further. He cut a strip of beef.

Hornblower had none of the easy-going good humour of Kennedy, nor did he have the ability and charm to befriend. But has he been of the less reserved nature and possessed such an ability, the junior lieutenant would certainly be one of the first person to befriend.

Catherine, seemingly aware of Hornblower's disposition, has perceived it from the close quarters of the Renown. Shipboard no member of the crew was ignorant or oblivious of the other. The Renown may be large, but with four hundred men and officers onboard, it was considerably cramped. Catherine, of course, was very much aware of.

"Mr. Hornblower, sir."

Hornblower turned at the greeting, returning it with due civility.

"Mr. Porter."

"Most fortunate that tonight is quite warm night, but must say it will be a long one," she remarked. She chaffed her fingers slightly.

Hornblower nodded, "Yes, at least I'm not on the mast top ."

Catherine smiled slightly. She searched for something to talk about. Hornblower. The name was actually quite familiar. Dr. Hornblower. Remembrance sent an unpleasant sensation pass through her stomach. The Earl of Exeter's doctor. Hornblower was not a common name. Asking coolly, she said, "Are you perhaps related to the infamous Dr. Hornblower in Exeter?"

Hornblower started.

"Err...no..yes, yes he's my father."

"I see."

Catherine pursued the subject no further, elapsing into silence. But in the brief time, she noticed the slight slouch of her companion's position against the rail. Hornblower has fallen asleep. Cursing, she stretched out her arm and was about to rouse him with a shake of his arm. But her arm stayed poised in midair. She withdrew her hand. Most of the lights have been extinguished. Below on the gundeck, there were no men on watch. Barely any light streamed from Sawyer's cabin. Hobbs was below decks. She positioned herself more comfortably on the rail, peering into the darkness.

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

It was muted. But it was there. Footsteps from the opposite side of the quarterdeck. It resonated from the direction of the cabin. Catherine broke out of her reverie. She reached out and shook  
Hornblower's arm. He was still asleep. She shook him again to no avail.

"Mr. Hornblower! Sir!" she whispered as loud as she dared. Footsteps continued this way. She shook him again.

"And what do we have here?"

Her heart thumped in her throat. She has failed. Instinctively, she rose to attention, straightening herself.

"Captain, sir." She touched her hat.

But Sawyer ignored her.

"Caught asleep on watch, Mr. Hornblower?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

His voice was deadly. A sharp click gave it away. It was a pistol being cocked. Her eyes travelled down to Sawyer's outstretched hands. There was the pistol, coiled in his hands ready to slither out and strike with deadly venom, biting deep into the skin and flesh. Eyes turned on Catherine.

"And you, Mr. Porter. Did you take orders from him?"

"Sir.."

Hornblower shifted.

"I should take you and hang you by your neck, Mr. Hornblower," said Sawyer, softly.

"Sir, I..."

"I do believe your life in my hands."

Catherine looked past Sawyer onto the ocean. The darkness of the night blurred into the ocean. It was impossible to tell them apart. She could not see anything clearly, just small blurry figures in a sea of black. But she could hear the very conversation going on beside her.

"You fear me, sir?"

Sawyer's pistol raised an inch.

"No, I've always held you in the highest regard, sir."

"Indeed." Sarcasm etched into his voice. "I was like you once. Young, intemperate, a danger to fellow officers..."

Sawyer shifted his gaze slightly to Catherine. He turned back to Hornblower.

"You would shoot me where I stand."

Catherine turned at the declaration. It was said simply.

"Here." Sawyer turned the butt of the pistol away from him.

Her eyes widened. Dear God! she thought. She turned to the sickbay, striding away not even bothering to take leave of the captain.

"Captain Sawyer, please."

"Mr. Porter, you would shoot me also."

Catherine stopped in her path. Slowly, she turned at the mention of her name. She has never seen the like.

"Sir, please, I believe you should rest." She turned just enough to say her words. Swiftly, she continued. Clive stood in front of her.

"The captain, sir..."

He pushed roughly past her.

"Stop that!"

Sawyer's gaze travelled to the doctor. Wearily, like the aged man he was, he said, "You too, Dr. Clive. There is no one on this ship I could trust."

"You should be in bed, sir. Give it to me."

Clive snatched the pistol away.

"You'll do yourself injury, sir. Come I'll give you something to help you sleep."

Sawyer tore himself away.

"Your life is in my hands. Your life is in my hands."

"He won't forget, sir."

Catherine stepped aside to let Sawyer pass, followed by Clive. Hurrying, she strode back to Hornblower.

"I must say I have never seen the likes of it, sir."

"I am afraid, I must agree."

Hornblower ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"I've never seen a man so instable in his life," admitted Catherine.

"I'm afraid of the captain returning."

"What happened?"

Both Catherine and Hornblower started at the interjection. But it was only Kennedy. Catherine touched her hat briefly.

"Archie," greeted Hornblower.

Hornblower looked at her. Catherine grimaced and glanced around. Light blinded her eye. Adjusting, she saw Hobbs shine a lantern towards them. He studied the three lieutenants.

"What can we do for you Mr. Hobbs?" called Kennedy. Hobbs did not answer. Quickly proceeding down into the mess. His footsteps echoing.

"I'm afraid I will be the bearer of bad news." Catherine bit her lip. "It seems that the captain wishes to die."

"Then why didn't you let him?"

"I fear that in doing so, delighting all of us, taking us with him, Archie," answered Hornblower.

More footsteps put the conversation to an end.

"What now, Hobbs?"

"It's me, Matthews, sir."

Catherine spun around.

"Matthews?"

"Randel said, Mr. Hornblower sent for me, sir."

Her eyebrow rose. She turned to Hornblower. His eyes were dilated with surprise.

_Randel said_... Matthews' words sounded in her mind. _Randel. _Randel was the man who caused so much trouble on her first day aboard the Renown, realised Catherine. Hornblower did not summon him. Her mind worked fiercely. The rat faced man was Styles, Matthews mate with whom Randel fought with.

"No!" she muttered, turning to Hornblower, "This was a trap.."

There was no time for any explanation. Before she even stopped speaking, there was a loud groan. Then followed by a dull whack. Catherine hurtled down the ladder in Hornblower's wake.

It was ghastly.

Styles' face was covered in blood. His hair was matted with blood. Two men has restrained him in two strong grips on his arm, while Randel executed a continuous series of punches to his torso and stomach.

"I shoul' 'ave realised I've been sent on a wil' goose chase, sir." Matthew's was saying.

"Damn you! Let him go!"

Hornlower raised his arms forcefully above his head. There was more footsteps. The Marines have arrived. They pulled Randel away.

"Put him in irons!" ordered Hornblower.

Catherine turned back to Styles who has been dropped on the deck. Matthews' rushed to his side. She could see his mouth move. Matthew lent closer.

"What did he say?"

"'e said 'e was winning, sir," reported Matthews.

She groaned.

Catherine paused before the cabin. If all goes well, Randal would be placed in the brig for violation of one of the Articles of War. If all was to go well. However Catherine was much disposed to think that such an event unlikely.

This hastily solicited court-martial would be presided over by Sawyer, Clive and Buckland, being the most senior officers aboard. The latter two would, without a doubt, would have little to say. She sighed. Setting her facial features into an indifferent mask, she composed herself. With one swift movement, her hat was whipped from her head and tucked neatly under her arm. Catherine stepped into the cabin.

A shadow fell upon the large desk in the form of a tall man, the captain. He stood facing the sea with his back turned to the small assembly gathered. In the centre of the table was a piece of paper. A heavyset paper smothered with thick, heavy strokes.

Catherine fancied it to be _the_ paper. Every single detail of the charge and evidence was recorded on it. Or so it was officially to be.

The hot southern sun, burned into the room. Sawyer's two golden epaulettes glistened under the bright rays. His shadow cast a dark, dreary figure across the whole cabin, making the cabin darker even than usual. Fists were clasped. They rested clenching and unclenching. Abruptly, Sawyer whipped around.

Catherine stared head, fiddling with the cockade on her hat. She waited for Sawyer's address, casually. All the senior officers have gathered, both the wardroom, the master and the surgeon. Clive sat unmoved on one side of the table. Buckland sat on the other side, wearing a frown and thin-lipped. Sawyer sat down between them, panting slightly as he set his tall frame down between the two. He drew the piece of paper towards him and started to read.

"Randal, gunner's mate aboard His Majesty's Ship Renown has hereby been charged, after reading of the Articles of War set down by His Majesty George the Second, with provoking with malice, and deceitfully initiating an argument which resulted in a fight which without intervention would have resulted in the loss of life of bosun's mate, Styles."

Here, Sawyer glanced at the unreadable expressions around him. His lips twitched. It stretched across his haggard face, turning at the corners and twisting into a sneer. He continued, in a monotone voice as if bored. Catherine heard the accounts of evidence from those who was all present at the incident. Of the officers, Hornblower had recounted the events with an undulated emphasis on the possible loss of life. She heard herself, give a simple account of the ghastly scene that she has witnessed. Kennedy's testimony had been short stating only of Matthews being deceitfully sent on a wild goose chase. Finally, the paper was finished reading by Sawyer. The charges and the evidence being vital to the outcome of the court-martial was finished. He turned to Randal.

"I believe that night was declared a part duty Sunday?"

Randal grinned, leering at the lieutenants grouped around, answering, "Aye."

The omission of 'sir' was not lost upon any of the officers save Sawyer. Catherine raised an eyebrow, unsurprised but annoyed nonetheless. Buckland's frown deepened. But Sawyer said nothing, continuing with his questioning, unfazed.

"Then you must have been in considerable high spirits after the serving of double rum?"

A nod from Randal, his grin turned wider. Sawyer turned to Hornblower.

"Perhaps placing men in irons for high spirits did not occur to you as being particularly extreme, Mr. Hornblower?"

"Sir," protested Hornblower, "Styles could have been beaten to death."

Sawyer cocked his head to the side, surveying Styles who stood before him. Catherine gritted her teeth. She had been there. Had Randal been allowed to continue, Styles would not be here. Slowly, Styles pulled up his shirt. A grimace crossed his features as the shirt brushed across his torso and stomach. While, the remnants of blood has been cleaned from the injuries, the large swells has yet to heal. Sawyer glanced at him nonchalantly, not registering the size of the black and blue shapeless mass covering Styles' torso. He gave a careless wave.

"Yet he stands larger than life. You exaggerate, Mr. Hornblower."

"Sir.."

"You are too squeamish, all of you are. You tie a man in irons because of his boisterous high spirits led him to knock someone about. And you plan to have him charged with an outrageously severe crime."

He continued, "I like high spirits in my men."

Catherine looked away. She bit her lips, soon the copper taste of blood permeates her mouth once again.

"Sir, with due respect..."protest Hornblower. Sawyer's eyes dilated.

"Respect!" he exclaimed. "And what do you know of respect?"

He licked his lips, unsure of how to continue.

"You are too squeamish." He nodded to himself like a man wanting to convince himself. "It will affect your conduct under fire."

He turned to Randel. "I like high spirits, but i do not like weak, squeamish officers who do _not know how to keep order_!"

Catherine wet her lips, tugging forcefully at her cockade. _Weak, squeamish officers who don't know how to keep order? _her mind screamed. What does Sawyer understand about order?

"Charges dismissed."

Randel thrust his hands into his pockets, his lips twitching into a smirk. He strutted out of the room. Catherine turned away in disgust. What disgraceful man would behave in such a manner? Styles stared reproachfully at Sawyer's back.

No one moved. Catherine's feet shuffled. They had not been dismissed yet. But Sawyer still has his back turned resolutely away from the group. Everyone remained silent. Wary and unwilling to make a sound.

Slowly, the captain turned around. As he registered the assembly in his cabin, his eyes widened suddenly.

"What are you waiting for?" he growled. "Get out, dismissed."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Safely out of earshot of the captain on the quarterdeck, Catherine remarked drily, "Perhaps today's proceedings weren't so surprising."

Kennedy glanced at her disdainfully. She ignored him.

"I suppose the evidence was placed before the captain, the evidence he wanted, I mean," said Hornlower. His head bobbed at his own words.

"But, I believe this behaviour should not, I repeat, _should not_, go unaccounted for," interjected Buckland. "Weak, squeamish officers who do not know how to keep order?"

The lieutenants, in their complaints, have brought themselves into a circle, almost a huddle with heads bents and murmuring. While, the members of such a huddle remained unaware of their current positions on the deck, it did not fall upon blind eyes. Hobbs, silently observing, dutifully entered his captain's cabin.

"Order? Doesn't know the meaning of the word!" cried Buckland as loud as he dared.

"Gentlemen."

Catherine stiffened. There was no mistaking this voice. The dark, low growl. It was Sawyer.

"Stay where you are!" he ordered Catherine faced him, eyes boring into Sawyer's as he peered from his window. Hobbs' face appeared beside him she gritted her teeth. Sawyer addressed the gunner beside him, but it was not lost on the lieutenants.

"Bear witness to their guilt, Mr. Hobbs." To the lieutenants, he declared, "Every sign of guilt. Whispering. Plotting. Scheming. You'll all pay for this!"

Peering from the door of his cabin, he emerged.

Kennedy shifted besides her.

"Stand still!" ordered Sawyer. He continued his accusations, "A mutinous assembly I believe."

"No, sir." Buckland wetted his lips, shifting his weight from left to right.

"Don't give me a lie on my own quarterdeck!" he cried sharply. "Plotting, whispering, scheming, treating me with gross disrespect."

"No, sir," protested Buckland.

"Ahh! Again you give me the lie," exclaimed the captain, exasperation etched into his voice. Or was it disappointment, wondered Catherine. Turning to Bush, he asked, "Mr. Bush, I'm disappointed in you, why didn't you see fit to report this mutinous assembly to me?"

"I wasn't aware of this, sir. I was helping Mr. Wellard take his noon readings," answered Bush. Catherine could detect the slight hesitation in his voice. She turned to the captain. But he did not notice.

"Ahh, Mr. Wellard."

Sawyer marched over to tower over Wellard, who had his eyes glued upon the sextant in his hands. It quivered a little. Peering into Wellard's face, he declared, "He'll be in this too. You'll be in trouble with these...gentlemen, Mr. Wellard."

Wellard raised his head slightly.

"You didn't keep a sharp enough lookout, did you boy!" shouted Sawyer. Wellard flinched. "I doubt if you have a friend left on this ship!"

Catherine looked away, biting her lip and shifting slightly.

"But later for you. The lieutenants first, as their..lofty status decrees."

Sawyer glared shrewdly at them, pacing to and fro in the small space in front of them.

His head whipped up.

"You, Mr. Hornblower, will resume our continuous watch, and these four gentlemen will report to you when every watch is called..and at every hour of each watch at two, four, six and eight bells day and night and they are to be properly dressed. I have means of knowing whether I'm obeyed or not."

Catherine's nostrils flared. Sawyer strode away without waiting for a reply, leaving behind the lieutenants who remained in their positions unmoving.

The rustic notes of a violin pierced into the wardroom. Catherine felt each note of the violin loud and clear each leaving a distinct mark on her nerves. The tune was very familiar. Loud footsteps echoed on the thin wooden planks of the deck above. The steps of the jig never missing a beat. Peals after peals of boisterous laughter was heard. A bawdy sailor roared drunkenly. While such commotion usually make Catherine bury her head deep into her well worn copy of _Romeo and Juliet_, she smiled. Just a small twitch of the lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. She dropped _Romeo and Juliet_ carelessly on the table where it landed on its spine and fell open its most brittle and worn pages slumped and fell out. But Catherine paid it no heed.  
**************

Something soft brushed against her leg. Catherine's breath caught sharp in her throat. Suddenly with a loud squeak, that something brushed past her again, emitting scratching noises as it scurried across the hold. With a whistle, she let out the breath she was holding. It was just a rat. But her heart still thumped in her chest, jumping so strongly that she was sure that in no time at all, it would leap out of her.

Wham! Her shin collided heavily against the sharp iron corner of a chest. Catherine gritted her teeth, hissing at the pain in her leg. She looked up. That was it.

In front of her was a glimmer of candlelight, piercing the thick darkness of the hold. It was not one of those flickering, weak lanterns that swung drunkenly from their hooks, casting faint light across the main pathway of the hold cleared of all barrels and chests, but a strong shining light amongst everything in the hold that lay in shadow. As Catherine drew closer, she would make out in the light, three figures.

"There you are, Mr. Porter!" was the hushed greeting. Buckland quickly waved her over.

"Sir."

Catherine quickly sat down.

"Listen to this, Mr. Porter, suppose we declare him unfit, suppose we put him in irons," started Buckland.

"Then we have to be quick and sharp about it, if we do it at all," broke in Hornblower.

"Put him in iron." The phrase echoed in Catherine's mind. It seems unusually awkward to her ears no matter. There was something simply impossible about it. It was mutiny.

"What of the hands, will they..." interjected Kennedy.

"We can't just put him in irons, as for declaring..." said Catherine.

"Shhhhhhh! Someone's coming!"

Hornblower snuffed the lantern. There was a mad scramble as the four tried to find any place for concealment. Catherine's heart beat more wildly than ever. A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek. She quickly ducked behind a stack of chests.

Heavy footsteps clunked on the wooden planks. Catherine peered between a crack. Through the thin space, she could catch a glimpse of a thin, swaying ray of light. The footsteps became louder, ever closer. The creaking of a swaying lantern could be heard. What else would someone be doing deep in the ship but looking for them?

The thought chilled Catherine. The image of a scarred face with icy, calculating blue eyes appeared in mind, the gold insignia on his hat gleamed blood red. Hobbs. Footsteps ceased.

Catherine stared straight at the figure between the crack. It was standing a mere foot away from where Buckland and Hornblower crouched in shadow. Illuminated by the light he carried, she could make out the frock coat of a lieutenant even while the face remained in shadow. Lieutenant? Catherine looked again. There was no mistake. The figure moved away. Catherine almost raised her arm to wipe away the cold sweat on her face before she felt light falling upon the very crate she was behind.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Slowly, in unison the four lieutenants emerged, caught.

"Did you indeed?" muttered Buckland coolly.

Bush gingerly sat his lantern down.  
"The wardroom has deserted. Thought you might be up to something."

Catherine raised eyebrow.

"I'm afraid that we do not understand, sir," said she.

"I thought that you might feel something has to be done," continued Bush.

"I don't follow you," cut in Buckland.

"About the captain."

"Mr. Bush."Buckland's voice raised in warning.

"Which I do."

*********

"He's made a mockery of us!" complained Buckland. "Officers on continuous watch, as good as a death sentence. Mr...Mr. Hornblower over here, how many hours has it been?"

Hornblower smiled bemusedly but remained silent. Buckland looked in anticipation at him. When still no reply, he quickly turned away towards the others grouped around him.

"If we were to tie him in irons..." began him, tapping his knee.

"It would be a matter of Dr. Clive to declare him unfit for command," said Kennedy.

Catherine nodded and added, "His participation in any matter could be doubted."

Buckland shifted slightly, brushing away the latter tow comments with a flick of his hand. He opened his mouth, unsure.

"If we somehow were able to tie Sawyer in irons," added Hornblower. "What would await us in Kingston?"

Silence permeated the stuffiness of the hold. Buckland blinked rapidly and repeatedly, clearly confused. Kennedy and Bush stared at some invisible crack in the timber, faces grave. Catherine fiddled. _If__ any person in or belonging to the fleet shall make or endeavor to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretence whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death… _the all too familiar Articles of War echoed hollow in her mind. Sawyer's harsh voice as he vehemently spat out the words of the Article. _If any person in or belonging to the fleet…mutinous assembly….court-martial….death… _she raised her head slightly, meeting Kenedy's blue-eyed gaze opposite. They contained such a mixture of emotions that Catherine turned quickly away. The intensity of the gaze too unbearable. But that look..that almost haunted look would be embedded in her mind forever.

"A court-martial."

Bush's voice was soft and controlled. The man has uttered the word had it been some usual comment of the barometer readings.

"But why?" Buckland threw up his hands.

"If any person in or belonging to the fleet shall make or endeavor to make any mutinous assembly upon any pretence whatsoever, every person offending herein, and being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death…" Catherine trailed away, unwittingly speaking her thoughts.

"This is mutiny, Mr. Buckland."

His eyes momentarily widened. "Oh, God, he'll break me. He'll break the whole bloody ship," cursed Buckland.

"Horatio, if they see him…" started Kennedy. Catherine glanced his way. His expression was still grave. He was just another man vainly attempting to convince himself. She abruptly looked away, merely thinking of Kennedy's will at convincing himself, somehow sent an unpleasant sensation in her heart.

"What would the court do when they hear that the captain had a boy beaten several times?" continued Hornblower, raising an eyebrow. Daring. His piercing stare centered upon Buckland.

Silence.

"They'll laugh."

"Exactly, and he can talk."

"But if they can see him, Horatio," said Kennedy, with such a pleading note in his voice pathetic to behold.

"Sawyer is no raving lunatic, besides would the court listen to _Captain_ Sawyer, national hero, or his nameless lieutenants?" cut in Catherine, unwilling to let Kennedy continue his senseless pleading.

"I, certainly don't think any of us has enough friends to convince them otherwise," added Hornblower.

Kennedy stared straight into her eyes. Anger. Daring. Frustration. Or a mixture of all three. Catherine blinked as he looked away.

The small circle lapsed into silence. Neither willing to continue nor to disperse. The lantern swung from its hook with the barely felt motion of the ship in the hold. As its steady beam began to waver, it cast alarming shadows on their faces, contorting and grimacing all at once.

_Creak! Creak! Creak!_ went the timbers in cold, dark rhythm. _Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!_ Catherine started at the new sound. She raised her head, setting her eyes upon Kennedy's startle visage, a mirror of her own fears. Realization dawned on all.

"Shh! Someone's coming!" was Hornblower's whispered warning, but it was unnecessary.

Catherine ducked behind the very stack of chests she hid behind before. As she recalled the feeling of Bush's lantern shining on her back, a sense of uneasy flooded through her. She quickly scooted behind a different pile of barrels.

_Clunk! Clunk!_ The footsteps grew louder. But whoever was making them threw no caution to the winds. Thy echoed loud and clear even in the hold. _Urgent. And fearful,_ thought Catherine.

Catherine blinked. Her own words startled her. Anyone who was searching would be more apt to disguise the sound of their footsteps, insuring that their victims would all be surprised, not the incessant and obnoxious footsteps that was occurring now.

"Sir! Sir!"

Hushed whispers rang shrill in the dimness.

"Sir! Sir!" went the repeated words, ever more urgently.

Catherine's heart sank. Hasty footsteps stumbled in its rhythm. A madly swinging lantern came into view, growing larger with every unsteady step. Finally, Wellard fell into view. Catherine emerged as did the others.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Wellard?" cried Hornblower, as loud as he dared. "Why aren't you on watch?"

Huffing and puffing, poor Wellard was in no means to provide an understandable answer. The lieutenants glanced at each other. Catherine felt her hear thump wildly in her chest. Cold sweat beaded on her brow.

"The captain's coming, sir! He's looking for mutineers. He's turned out the Marine guard, sir!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

"_The captain's coming, sir! He's looking for mutineers. He's turned out the marine guards, sir!" _

It took some time for Catherine's mind to digest Wellard's words. She stood and blinked for several moments. His every word has pulled her nerves taunted like yards when the Renown ploughed through high seas. Her heart continued to hammer wildly in her chest, beating like the drums that announced imminent battle. Finally, the words formed coherence in her mind.

Sawyer was coming. Coming to catch them with the Marines.

"He sent Hobbs to cover the midship section," finished Wellard, breathlessly.

"Good God!" muttered Buckland.

Hornblower peered through a crack. The coast was clear.

"Alright," he motioned at Bush, Buckland and Kennedy, "Go for'ard to the lower gundeck then scatter."

It seems to Catherine that Hornblower never realised that he was ordering vastly superior officers. But the said officers reacted wordlessly. It seems none of the usual protocols in the Royal Navy applied not to this exceptional circumstance. The disappeared into the gloom.

"Mr. Wellard, Mr. Porter, come with me," snapped Hornblower. He led them in the opposite direction.

Footsteps sounded above them, stealthy and quite, but steadily moving in their wake. Catherine placed one foot in front of the other. Heel first. Then toes, trying to make as little sound as possible. The hard soled shoes still echoed loud and clear with each step. She winced.

Hornblower raised his arm, signalling them to stop. Slowly he sat, on the deck, a barrel on which he carefully balanced himself. He carefully raised the hatch above them.

Catherine felt cold sweat trickling down her forehead but she dare not wie it away, sure more too to replace it. Hornblower closed the hatch. It made a small clang as the hard wood met wood. She winced again.

"We have to move," he said guardedly.

Catherine heard footsteps above them. Getting louder with each clunk of hard soles. She pushed Wellard and Hornblower behind a stack of barrels. But the one Hornblower used for raise the hatch remained ominously under it. Her heart hammered in her chest.

She dared not breath, sure that the hiss of her ragged breathing would bring their pursuers upon them. Sweat was pouring down her face. Two soft clunks. She knew someone had now emerged from the very hatch Hornblower had raised to spy on them. They had also landed on that very barrel. Two more clunks, this time getting louder, more footsteps. Catherine's breath caught sharp in her throat. They were coming. More steps, then it stopped right on the other side of the barrels they hid behind. As she peered through a small crack, she could see a swinging beam of light and a scarred face, clearly illuminating the holder of the lantern. Hobbs. She shrunk into the shadows.

Hobbs peered around, unable to detect the three figures hidden behind the stack of barrels. Shining the lantern here and there, she searched vainly, cursing. Finally, like eternity to Catherine, she heard footsteps retreating, gradually diminishing into the dimness. She let out a slow shaky breath.

Hornblower, too seemed to be shaken by this encounter, shook his head to clear it. He pointed aft, where the ladder leading to the lower gundeck sat dimly visible under an open hatch. Smartly, he ducked and emerged from behind their hiding place. Catherine followed, as did Wellard. Suddenly, a loud metallic clang, shook her from head to toe.

In the fleeting second she took to glance back, she saw a lantern rolling below its hook. She could hear more footsteps as Hobbs was no doubt notified of their whereabouts, from Wellard's carelessness. Panic stricken, she pushed forwards blindly. The rungs of the ladder loomed before her. She gripped the sides, hauling herself up each rung, slipping in her haste. Finally, she pulled herself onto the deck.

"Should we split up here?" asked Catherine. She scanned the deck, it was still deserted, for now. Hornblower gave a quick nod. She offered, "I'll take Wellard."

Another nod as he melted into the shadows on either side of the deck, beside the cannons.

"Mr. Wellard, over here!" whispered Catherine, motioning for the midshipman to join her.

Bang! Footsteps clunked as a door banged shut hard against it frame. She cursed as Wellard stumbled slightly, trying to squeeze in a crack between a large crate and a cannon. She would not hear Hobbs, but she could hear an almost stampede of hurried footsteps behind. She risked a glance back.

The final door swung into the gundeck with a loud creak. In her brief glimpse, Captain Sawyer pounced through. Catherine hurriedly stumbled back. There was a yard. Blindly, she reached out, catching a beam. Stopping before she crashed into the cannon. Her breathing hard, her heart still thumping wildly. Sawyer with his two pistols as he leapt through the door was branded into the back of her eyelids, as she closed her eyes, praying.

"Stay where you are?"

The captain's bellow reached her. Catherine's eyes snapped open. No!

"It's me Hobbs, sir."

Catherine tensed. She and Wellard were only a mere three cannons away from the very hatch they had climbed from. Her mind turned the others, Buckland, Bush and Kennedy. They should be safely on deck by now. How fortunate of them. Hobbs and Sawyer was here, the Marines would be less persistent.

"Where are they, Hobbs?" Sawyer was asking.

There was a brief silence as Hobbs contemplated.

"Around here somewhere."

Catherine's grip tightened once more on the beam. So it is, she though. Clan! She spun around. It echoed loudly and clearly through the gundeck. It shook Catherine to the core. It was the sound of a hatch closing. And it was not lost upon Hobbs and Sawyer.

"Over there."

Catherine heard Sawyer snap several orders.

"Hurry up! Hurry, damn it!" he cried.

She shrunk back. Hobbs hurried past her glancing neither left or right. She relaxed a little, but her grip on the beam did not slacken. In the silence that followed. A door clicked shut.

"I hear you," rang out Sawyer's voice.

Catherine's heart skipped.

"Out! Out!" he cried. "I'll shoot you where you stand!"

Catherine tapped Wellard's shoulder, gesturing for him to move.

"Get out, run, get out!" she ordered. Wellard nodded, gulping, stumbling loud against the wooden deck.

"Stay where you are!"

Catherine took a faltering step forward. Sawyer has turned in her way, but she doubted he saw her. But she stared straight into the barrel of a pistol. It was cocked. The other was pointed to Kennedy.

"They've abandoned me. Universal treachery. Universal desertion. My men where are my true men?"

Sawyer's muttering contained nothing but fear. As Catherine looked at him, instead of anger, she felt sympathy well in her. The same sympathy she had felt for her consumption stricken grandmother.

Slowly, the door swung open. A figure stepped forwards. Catherine's hear leapt into her throat. It was Archie Kennedy. Both of Sawyer's pistols were now directed at his breast. Quietly, she crept along the line of cannons, towards him.

One cannon. Two cannons. Three. Catherin stood, still submerged in shadow on Sawyer's left. She raised her head. Opposite, Hornblower too stood in shadow.

"Sir.." Kennedy's voice quavered as he took a step towards the captain. Sawyer unsteadily stepped back.

_Be an opportunist. Be an opportunist. _Her own words echoed in her mind. Her eyes fluttered close. Wait for an opportunity to dispose of the captain.

Her eyes snapped open. The captain took another step closer to the precarious drop of the hatch. Instinctively, her eyes darted to the edge of the drop. Another step and he would be too close to the edge. How easy to fake an accident, she thought.

Suddenly, the deck was heaving under her wave after wave washed over the Renown as sheets of rain berated down upon it. The halyards pulled taunt against heavy winds. The thud as the body of the young sailor fell onto the deck, only to be carelessly tossed into the roaring sea under Sawyer's very order.

_Be an opportunist. _Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly nauseous. _Follow orders... do nothing drastic, Mr. Porter, which I trust you will. _Admiral Hood's parting words in Plymouth, flashed before her. Where has it led her?

Catherine opened her eyes, catching Hornblower'se gaze. A cock of the eyebrow. Her gaze flickered to Sawyer. Kennedy took another step forwards. Sawyer took one fatal step he took a longer stride than Catherine expected. Half of the sole of his shoe protruded over the open hatch. His body faltered trying to gain his balance. But there was no opportunity for that.

Catherine and Hornblower both reached out. Kennedy's arms were outstretched. Wellard stared wide-eyed. She felt the smooth woollen fabric of a coat under her fingers. And she shoved. Not a very forceful one, just a gentle shove no more than a tap on the shoulder. But it was enough.

With a dull thud, Sawyer landed heavily on the deck below. Two pistols shots screamed into the air of the ship.

A heaving deck under her feet. Swinging yards protruded from swaying masts. A dull thud. Catherine could feel the dampness of her coat seeping into her bones. Her hair clung to her head wet with rain. A wave washed over the deck drenching all on board. The dead sailor floating eerily on it. The hands of a watch indicated fourteen minutes. She slid onto the deck, legs too numb to walk. Another wave crested over the bow of the Renown.

Catherine found herself shaking. Her hair clung to her scalp, not with cold seawater but with cold sweat. Her clothes stuck to her with sweat. Her hands felt clammy still outstretched. She looked down the open hatch. The captain shook slightly as he lay immobile on the deck.

A thud. Two pistols screaming.

The captain has fallen through the hatch. Catherine quickly withdrew her hands, clasping them tightly behind her back. Quickly, she took a step forwards.

"Mr. Hornblower, Mr. Kennedy, sir," she called.

"Mr. Porter, I believe the captain has had an unfortunate accident," replied Hornblower. She could see the sweat bead at his hairline. In fact, his face glistened with it.

Kennedy's eyes fixated upon her face. She took a hasty gulp. She brushed her hand across her forehead. It came away with a sheen of sweat. Now clasping her hands behind her back, she took the pretence of surveying the captain lying below the hathc. But instead she looked onto the backs of several startled Marines, their scarlet coats gleamed oddly in the light.

She focused on Sawyer. He was still clutching the two pistols. Though the shot has been exhausted several moments before, Catherine was still uncomfortable with the idea of pistols or indeed any weapons on him or even within reach. And she was not the only one thinking along those lines.

"Mr. Wellard, please take the two guns from the captain and take it to Mr. Buckland on the quarterdeck."

Mr. Buckland? Catherine's discomfort grew. Hornblower's orders of taking the guns to Buckland was an obvious sign of the change of command. He was the first lieutenant but ... Catherine shifted uncomfortably.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Through the door hurried Buckland, followed by a perturbed Bush.

"I heard pistols shots...so I…." Buckland abruptly stopped catching sight of the figures of the lieutenants standing immobile and grave before him on the sides of the hatch. Hesitantly, he took a step towards the edge, scrutinizing the scene below.

"It would seem, sir," Kennedy paused, "that the captain fell."

Catherine barely heard him. In the very scene Buckland was familiarizing with, she saw an image that made her blood run cold. The Marines had stepped aside, so that Sawyer's face was now not obscured. His eyelids had half shut, leaving only the whites to be seen. However, had his eyes been open, he would have been staring into the muzzle of the very pistol he had clutched and pointed at Kennedy's breast. This time held in a pale freckled had of Wellard. The only member below the hatch surrounding Sawyer with a navy blue frock coat.

"Mr. Wellard, give the pistols to Mr Buckland," ordered Catherine, the shrill in her voice slightly clearer than she expected, she added, "Please."

Wellard stood as if transfixed. His arm lowered a little, wavering.

"Mr. Wellard," repeated Hornblower, firmly.

Finally, with a slowness which caused physical pain on Catherine's behalf, Wellard lowered the pistol. She watched every degree and every inch of the arm being lowered. He bounded up the ladder, neither hindered by the steepness nor by the pistols nor did he glance back at Sawyer.

Buckland received the guns wordlessly. His eyes darted from the sweat coated face of Hornblower to the edge of the hatch and back again.

"Mr. Porter, summon Dr. Clive, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Bush, have a tackle rigged."

Catherine tapped her hat. As she made her way from that hatch, she heard the voice of Sergeant Whiting of the Marines.

"Sir, before the captain fell, sir, he was talking about mutineers. 'We've gotta catch the mutineers' he says."

Hornblower's voice rang out, "Did he mention the identity of these...mutineers, sergeant?"

"No, sir, Mr. Hobbs was with him, might've confined in him, sir."

Catherine reached the last rung. The voices died behind her. She bit her lips, but feeling relieved somewhat.

"The captain fell from a hatch, Mr. Porter?" Clive asked sharply.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Bush and Kennedy are having a tackle rigged for him."

Clive took a step forwards towards her. The stench of tobacco and wine reeked. She stood her ground. He peered into her face.

"Have you heard that the captain believed there was mutiny brewing?"

"The captain's wellbeing should first be insured before an investigation can be launched," she answered evenly.

Clive did not answer. Slowly, he donned his coat. She led him through the labyrinth of the Renown down the lower gundeck. Sawyer still lay unmoving. Hobbs was already there. He gave her a hard look.

In a solemn procession, Sawyer was carried with the utmost care by Hobbs men into his cabin. Clive had them lay him onto the large oak desk.

"Will he survive?" asked Buckland quietly. Sawyer's forehead was smeared with blood, somewhat matting his hair with it. But it was only a smear, a very slight one compared to the amount Catherine has seen before from previous injuries. But she was not completely ignorant of the ways of injuries, knowing quite well that blood was not the only factor in showing the severity of one.

"I believe so," was Clive's terse reply.

"Will he recover?"

Clive shot a sharp glance at Buckland before answering, "It depends what you mean by recover. He is severely concussed."

"I believe what Mr. Buckland means when he would recover sufficiently to resume command," offered Hornblower.

"Impossible to say. The skull is intact, there are no cracks.." the doctor murmured to himself.

"Mr. Buckland, I guess I'll be on continuous watch then."

"Yes, yes we'll be following the captain's orders until further notice." Buckland gave Bush an exasperated glance. He turned to her. She could see every line of his face wrinkled with worry. She frowned, slightly. "What else can I do?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The winds were fresh and clear, pushing the Renown with its sails closer and closer to her destination. The clouds overhead, however, hiding an azure sky which shone in patches here and there.

Catherine stood erect by the binnacle, one hand cradling her glass while the other hung loosely by her side. An image of calmness to any onlooker. She would have preferred to be pacing to and fro with ever increasing urgency and speed at every step, though. But it seems to be overly detrimental and unsuitable. The events of last night replayed over and over again in her mind.

"It we should tie him in irons..." had been Buckland's suggestion. But the complications of that was not unsaid. Court-martial. Bush's aloof statement vibrated. A dull thud as the captain landed heavily on the deck. The feeling of wool as she reached out. Catherine shuddered involuntarily.

"An opportunity we've all been waiting for."

Catherine started at the voice. But it was only Kennedy.

"An opportunity?" she repeated.

"For Buckland. Though perhaps it wasn't what he had envisioned."

She followed his gaze. Quite, rightly, Buckland had been pacing two steps to larboard and two steps to starboard as if possessed. The speed of his actions made it as if he was turning on the spot without direction or purpose. But even such actions would not grant him relief from him emotions. He muttered incessantly, "I don't like it, I don't like it at all."

Catherine murmured, feeling obliged to answer, "Perhaps not, but this is certainly not merely taking a sloop or merchantman to any British port, Mr. Kennedy."

"But even ...this dilemma does not grace fourth lieutenants."

"Ah, true, quite true."

Kennedy glanced at the helmsman, lowering his voice.

"Do you believe the captain would be indisposed of after that ..that fall?" he asked.

"The captain may be incapacitated now, but he may wake up this afternoon," she answered, casually raising her voice.

"Yes, let's hope you prediction may be true," joined in Buckland. "But I still am not liking this."

"Sir, there was nothing we could have done," protested Kennedy, "we did what we could under the circumstances.

"But I don't have to like it," shot back Buckland. His retort went unheard, his voice carrying less venom than he had intended. Catherine rolled her eyes, though he had to agree with him. That sense of extreme foreboding and nervous energy had filled her body, even if adrenaline has not begun to pump excessively, she could feel it seeping into her bloodstream.

"We couldn't have done anything, the events of last night simply overtook us," consoled Bush.

"So, the captain just had to fall?"

Catherine gave Buckland a baleful stare.

"For all we should know, he could wake in no time," she repeated.

"And the air just smells fresher than any day before," muttered Kennedy.

A silence ensued as every other lieutenant turned in amazement at his declaration

"The captain's incapacitation is not a cause for celebration, Mr Kennedy," came Buckland's rebuke. "For now, before Dr Clive declares otherwise, the captain is still in command of this ship."

His statement was clear. Catherine started. There was someone missing from this interchange, who could perhaps have berated some sense into it.

"And what of Mr Hornblower, shall I wake him?"

She turned to Kennedy. Then surveying the deck, she saw Hornblower nestled between two cannons, legs outstretched. The hard iron and wood most likely dug into his flesh but he was fast asleep.

"No, let him have a little longer, the man hasn't slept for days," came Buckland's order.

"I would not imagine it to be very comfortable," remarked Catherine.

"Just a little longer," repeated Buckland. He stalked away.

A bell rung. The noon watch was called. The clouds parted, blown by the wind. Suddenly, sunlight immersed the Renown with light. Catherine blinked adjusting.

"You know, I won't envy his position."

She turned to Bush, surprised.

"The responsibility lies heavy," he continued. Catherine pressed her lips together. She glanced at Hornblower who still showed no sign of waking.

"Mr Bush, Mr Kennedy, perhaps you should take a rest, I shall take the watch."

"No, I will share the watch with you," answered Kennedy.

"As will I."

Charts were perhaps one of the most precious objects aboard, protected in their leather casing kept in the captain's cabin. The charts of the Renown were spread across the large table in the wardroom. A map of the Atlantic lay on top of all the others, perused by Catherine. She had taken the liberty of removing those precious charts from their case which in turn Buckland had removed from Sawyer's cabin. Each progress of the Renown was marked with crosses over the Atlantic. She ran her finger from each mark, pausing at the cross made a week ago.

This one was larger, lager than any of the previous crosses. That was made the same day Sawyer fell down the hatch. Catherine dwelled over it no further, sliding her finger across to the next cross. Then the next. Until she reached the last cross. The island of Haiti loomed from the map, a mere few inches from the last cross.

"A month until Haiti," she murmured. She perused farther. Her eyes rested on Jamaica, on a dot marked Kingston south of the island. "Kingston or Haiti?"

Catherine drummed her fingers. But any answer eluded her,

"How many days till Kingston, Mr Porter?"

Buckland's voice pierced her. She stared stupidly at him, before repeating, "Kingston, sir?"

"Yes, I had our course tacked by 32O north," was his brisk reply.

Catherine paused. She had to dissuade him from doing so, but surely obliging him first would make it simpler? "A month, less if the winds are fresh and we do not meet any ..trouble."

"Good, good," Buckland paused, "Er, Mr Porter, what do you think of this?"

Catherine made pretence of hesitating. Slowly, she answered, "I believe that we should make for Samana Bay. We still have a month and many things may change in that time."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, firstly, I believe at present, we should all call on the captain."

Buckland stared at her. His fact set rigid. She turned away. The swells rose and fell, lapping gently on the hull, pushing the ships ever closer to their destination.

"Has Dr Clive declared the captain unfit, Mr Buckland," she asked coolly. Buckland's face fell.

"Very well, yes…no…fine."

No more than two bells later, Sawyer's cabin was crowded, quite crowed. The lieutenants stood, hats still tucked under their arms. Dr Clive stood unwavering behind Sawyer who lay on a large chintz chair he was in a pitiful state, immobile, wispy hair messily framing his face and wearing nothing but his shirt, bound around him was a large canvas cloth. Once in a while, he twitched his fingers, murmuring incoherently.

Catherine stepped towards Sawyer. She peered into his face. His breath reeked. She had smelt it before, the strong, clogging stench. The remedy for all. Laudanum. The captain was kept sedated. She raised her head to face Clive. "The captain is not indisposed due to his own means for a week, doctor."

Clive gritted his teeth. Angrily, he said "The captain had to be sedated."

He turned his head from side to side, skewing the wig. He appeared quite deranged.

"If you are keeping him in a constant state of sedation, how would we ever know if the captain is capable for command?" demanded Buckland.

"The captain has shown signs of...he was agitated," stammered Clive. Hornblower started.

"Are such symptoms if agitation natural to the fall he has sustained?"  
he pressed. The doctor's facade began to crack. Murmuring to himself he shook his head. "Yes, yes after such a fall... Signs of agitation is perhaps not uncommon. But before he had shown signs of..."

Catherine mentally blockaded the doctor's medical jargon. She interrupted, "Dr Clive, English please."

"Is the captain fit for command?"  
Hornblower stressed each word with force. There was a pause as every member of the cabin froze in tableau. Sawyer twitched, muttering. Catherine tugged at the cockade on her hat. Her eyes flickered from Clive to Sawyer.

"Well..."

"Dr Clive, is the captain fit for command?" demanded Hornblower.

"Well..for now...no."

Rigid shoulders drooped.

"But I said, at present, no."

"Thank you, Dr Clive."  
Catherine let out a breath, releasing her abused cockade. It hung sadly from her hat. She tried to set it straight once more, but to no avail.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Two more days till we reach Samana Bay," reported Hornblower. He lay down his compass.

Two days? Where has twenty eight days gone? Catherine shook her head in disbelief. Worriedly, she chewed on her bottom lip. She remarked, "That certainly is not a long time to whip the crew into fighting shape. Last time, it took nearly fourteen minutes to clear for action."

"That last time you mentioned was the only time they were trained in this entire five months voyage," said Bush. Catherine raised an eyebrow, turning to face him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hornblower do the same.

Bush knew exactly why the crew was not in shape to fight. Those words struck her as more than a mere cutting comment from a senior officer. They had a different purpose. They were to pull Catherine and Hornblower's attention back to that night when Sawyer fell. Catherine was not proven wrong on her theory.

"So, how did it happen?" pressed Bush.

The captain's accident did not fall to unthinking minds. She, Catherine, had been a fool, an arrogant fool. The entire ship had been roused to Sawyer's yells of 'mutiny' and 'treachery'. Then, he fell and was rendered unconscious. Too much of a coincidence.

Bush's gaze fell between Hornblower and Catherine.

"How did what happen, Mr. Bush?" asked Hornblower, breaking the tense silence that had settled.

"The two of you were there." Bush did not raise his voice, but it carried enough force to convey the gravity of the question.

Catherine narrowed her eyes slightly, said, "Mr Bush, your implications are lost on me, please be more direct in your questioning."

"How did the captain fall down the hatch?"

"The captain fell," insisted Hornblower.

Bush's gaze turned reproachful. Hornblower studiously continued with random calculations. Catherine stared blankly into space. A feeling of regret settled in the pit of her stomach. Bush had agreed, with great risk to himself, to help them. Them? The word sounded strange. They were merely desperate acquaintances, allies free of any emotional obligation. A scrawny group of mutineers. There were no real friendship with the exception of Archie and Hornblower. Archie possibly considered her a friend, even though their past may be complicated they had always been friends. Maybe Hornblower also, why else would he have confided so easily to her? Catherine stayed silent.

The timbers creaked, footsteps echoed on deck. A door swung open. Footsteps into the wardroom.

"Gentlemen, I believe we have a matter to discuss with Dr. Clive."

Catherine started at Buckland's voice. He was right. Clive could settle some things.

The Renown's logbook felt heavy in Catherine's hand. But it most definitely was not very large, hardly larger than the average pocketbook. It was only a small leather bound notebook with the letters H.M.S. Renown embossed carefully on the cover. But its pages and cover were stained, scarred, mouldy and marked, proving its intertwined fate with the Renown.

This was no misconception. Within the pages of the logbook, in various handwriting, every officer of the watch had recorded most carefully every incident that occurred during their watch. As a result, almost every single change of wind, course, trimming of sail, punishment and event had been tediously recorded.

As Catherine flipped through its pages, she spotted the date of May 21st 1801. In a heavy hand, an officer had recorded the fall of Sawyer and his injury. After a loser reading, that person had also recorded: 'the captain was suspicious of mutineers before injured.'

Catherine paused. The logbook had turned heavier by the moment. She quickly flipped onto a bland page. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she poised over the page ready to write.

The Renown rose and fell in the tropical swell. The captain's cabin became stuffy as all the lieutenants and Clive gathered around the still form of Sawyer. Catherine duly noticed the dark traces of blood on the table near where she sat, the empty bottles of laundanum and an empty decanter.

"Dr. Clive, as you are aware," began Buckland, in a voice he deemed to be confident. "it is necessary for me to formally assume command of this ship."

Clive let out a snort. He barked, "What's preventing you?"

Catherine could have let out a snort of her own should she has been taught never to do so under any circumstances for over twenty years, however, she allowed herself a grimace.

"You are Dr. Clive!" exclaimed Hornblower.

"You keep prevaricating!" joined in Kennedy. "You would not declare the captain unfit for command."

"Dr. Clive," Buckland began again, intent on drawing Clive's attention back to him, "we are not two days sail away from Samana Bay where we are to see action. It is vital for you to declare the captain unfit for command. If you do not, it would be an usurpation of power."

There was silence as Clive smiled triumphantly.

"Mutiny, in other words, why are you so frightened to the word?"

Catherine stiffened slightly. She glanced at the captain, registering his unconsciousness. His hands twitched ever so slightly. After a moment or two, his head rolled to side to side, lolling from his chair. This seemed to have caught the eyes of almost all the lieutenants present. Buckland eagerly continued, ignoring Clive's earlier comment.

"We are to see action at Samana Bay, not two days sail from our current location. It is vital fo you to declare him unfit."

Clive pressed his lips together, fuming. Tufts of hair from his wig came loose. He staggered forwards

"I have seen him through three ships, the man's a national hero!" he sputtered. Bush who had been closest to the doctor, said in a cool, detached voice, "You're drunk, man, you're drunk."

Catherine's quill hovered uncertainly over the page.

"Dr. Clive, would you please satisfy us to that point of declaring the captain unfit," demanded Buckland.

"Satisfy yourselves, sir!" growled Clive in reply. It became clear from that moment on, this meeting should be adjourned, that Dr. Clive was in no condition to satisfy their requests. However, the lieutenants stayed in the cabin, allowing silence and heat to bear down on them. Perhaps the feeling of frustration and fear made them all a little too determined to press on in desperate circumstances.

"Perhaps, Mr. Porter should note down Dr. Clive's inebriated condition. Perhaps, he himself is unable to perform his duties," said Hornblower finally.

Catherine happily obliged him, promptly noting down Clive's intoxication in the logbook. Still, no one was satisfied with today's events.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

The cannons fired each one jumping back against the braces that prevented them from rolling across the deck and crashing through the hull. Tons of metals rolled, tilting the entire ship. It was a din on the gundeck. The roaring of the guns echoed, accompanied by creaking of their carriages and the deck itself. Officers shouted their orders, directing the gun crews, dripping with sweat. Powder boys ran to and fro from the powder magazine to the guns, crying 'powder, powder'.

Catherine glanced at her watch. 1 minute 35 seconds to reload and fire. Not as bad as she expected. The gun crews turned to her expectantly.

"Run her out!" she ordered the last gun to fire, "Then reload!"

The din continued. Catherine felt a surge of relief flow through her as she once again glanced at her watch. They still stood a chance against an enemy. However, deep down, she still felt a building feeling of dread. She wiped her brow, suddenly feeling cold in the heat.

"Mr Porter, sir! You would want to hear this!"

Catherine whipped around, only to be faced with the bouncing midshipman Stuart whose eyes were as round as saucers and clearly very surprised and amused at the same time. So unsettled by this was she that she did not have any capacity to reply, instead giving the curtest of nods to the boy.

"Mr Hornblower, sir, he…...you have to see it!"

Something in this short exchange prompted Catherine's curiosity. What possibly had startled Stuart so much that he reported with such a manner? This certainly was not the siting of an enemy frigate and Catherine was confident Stuart would not act like so if the captain recovered.

On deck there was a hubbub of laughter, Catherine found herself staring right at the completely naked form of Hornblower being bathed by Styles and the pump. She was so shocked at the indignity of the entire event that her jaw slackened. Quickly averting her eyes, she muttered curtly, "I wouldn't have expected that."

Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

Footsteps sounded across the quarterdeck, but was lost within the din. Catherine did not notice until, Captain Sawyer stood right behind her. Silence descended like a thundercloud upon the Renown. There was a click, the distinct sound of a pistol being cocked.

"Arrest them!" ordered Sawyer. He turned his pistol to Catherine who looked him in the eye. She looked into cold grey eyes without any light to them. Sawyer hesitated, contemplating, "You, Mr Porter, you still have some good left in you."

"Mr Buckland, arrest them!"

Buckland hesitated, blinking. Catherine's eyes darted from him to the captain. She felt a sweat trickle down her forehead. Cold sweat. They were only a day from Samana bay. The captain was awake. Sawyer still trusted her. Her mind could not process this sudden turn of events. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.

"Mr Buckland, Mr Porter, arrest Lieutenants Hornblower, Bush and Kennedy," barked the captain. Bitter vile filled in her mouth. "Arrest them now, or the two of you would be joining them in the brig!"

Reality sank in. Unconsciously, she turned to Kennedy, standing below. He met her gaze squarely. Her stomach churned. Ruefully swept her gaze across the main deck. Bush, focused on Buckland. The hands, all merriment gone, stood unmoving. Hornblower caught her eye and gave a barely perceptible nod. Silence dragged on. Slowly, she turned to Buckland. Sweat glistened on his brow, a muscle twitched, betraying his nervousness. Hornblower's nod replayed in her mind.

As if her mind was a ship breaking through a fog, she steeled herself and bellowed, "Sergeant whiting, arrest Lieutenants Hornblower, Bush and Kennedy!"

"And clap them in irons like the mutineers they are!" roared the captain.

Footsteps of the Marines sounded loud and piercing. Buckland whipped around at her in disbelief. She schooled her expression.

Catherine raised her glass to her eye again. Did that fort look slightly larger? She lowered it again. This was the hundredth time. The tropical heat pressed in on her, suffocating. She continued to pace. Left. Right. Left. Her arm clutching her glass was stiff. Weariness threatened to spill into her mind. Her eyes seems to be abnormally dilated. The captain stood stoically in front of her, still holding his pistol. Catherine turned to Buckland, also standing stoically but behind the captain. She stopped abruptly in her track and approached him.

"Mr Buckland."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Buckland turned slightly, inclining his head towards Catherine who quickly approached him. There was restraint in his posture. A curt nod, little more that the jerk of his head, greeted her. After barely, escaping imprisonment in the brig and being accused of mutiny, Buckland felt that nay association with the other lieutenant s meant death for all. Catherine, however, seemed to be oblivious of the attitude posed by the senior lieutenant.

"Sir, you cannot allow this to continue," she objected in a harsh whisper. "We need to act!"

Her mind unwittingly flicked to Kennedy who at present was suffering imprisonment and disgrace in the brig while they dawdled.

"At least try to prevent this!" she pressed.

Buckland's response was a baleful stare. It clearly was a look of dejected frustration, anger and annoyance. Without further ado, the first lieutenant stalked away. Catherine was left to glare haplessly at his fast retreating back. Alone. She felt oppressed the necktie constricting. Like a opportunist, she sighed and waited, peering once more through her glass at the land over the horizon that was fast approaching.

There was silence on the Renown save for the creaking of the timbers and of the guns. The captain stood at the edge of the quarterdeck, surveying through glazed eyes. Catherine fidgeted, Buckland stood stiffly beside her. Both behind Sawyer. She could sense Buckland's nervousness and discomfort as palpable as the deck beneath her feet. Sweat poured downed her neck and pricked her brow.

The fort loomed before the bow. Cliffs gleamed white and pale in the sun. The fort disappeared into the cliffs, impenetrable as if cared from the very rocks it perched. Gold and red of the Spanish flag flapped in the breeze.

Catherine tightened her grip on her glass. While she may not have ten years of fighting experience, she knew that the fort was far too high for the Renown's guns to fire upon. She could also see that the Renown would be within the full firing range of the fort's guns within seconds. But the breeze pushed the ship further into the harbour and the fort's range.

"Five!" came the depth reading.

"Deep 4!"

"A half 4!"

Catherine blinked. A dull thud signalled the gun settling heavily onto its carriage.

"It's no go, 'ir!" cried Matthews, "The fort's too high up!"

"Sir…" she began, disrupting the captain from whatever reverie he was immersed in. She took several tentative steps towards him.

"No, get away! Get away!" Sawyer barked, stamping his feet. Catherine halted abruptly, suddenly fearful. Hurried footsteps sounded behind her.

"We are standing into terrible danger, sir." Buckland. Catherine's eyes widened.

"By the mark 4."

"There are only a few feet of water beneath us."

"Yes," agreed Catherine, "we must turn back before it's too late, sir."

Sawyer snorted, nostrils flaring with sudden uncontrollable rage. He growled, "No, I want to fight them."

Catherine threw Buckland a helpless look. If Sawyer wanted to fight, then it was for the lieutenants to help him and to remove the Renown from too dangerous a situation, she decided. And is was an opportunity. She stammered, "The other lieutenants."

"Yes, at least let me realise the other lieutenants. Without them there is no one to command the guns," carried on Buckland.

Slowly, Sawyer turned around. Buckland halted in his speech.

"I know what you want," he paused, "they'll stay exactly where they are."

Sawyer's voice made Catherine's hair stand on end. It was so cold and so controlled, it was terrifying.

Catherine turned to face Sawyer. Exhaustion drained her body and mind. Her lids were heavy. At least she tried, even if this was the end. She frowned. What pathetic excuses! Catherine had prided herself as someone who never gabe up and would die fighting. This Catherine would not give up when there was still room to try.

Splash! Spray showered the deck as cannonballs fell into the sea. They were under fire. Catherine started at the realization. Without sparing a glance at Buckland or Sawyer, she hurried down onto the upper gundeck, sliding in her haste down the ladder.

"Hobbs!" she shouted, gesturing wildly at the gunner. "Elevate the guns as much as possible and prepare to fire!"

Hobbs, his brows creased in a frown, nodded in response. Another round of cannon shook the Renown. This time several guns found it mark. Splinters flew through the crowded deck. Two ports were nearly ripped into one. Shrieks filled the air, piercing. The stench of singed wood and smoke began to clog the air. Catherine halfway on the ladder, lost her balance. Clutching a beam, she barely managed to pull herself onto the quarterdeck.

The quarterdeck fared on better than below. Huge splinters lay across the deck. Groaning men were carried below by their comrades. Blood coated the deck with a shiny sheen. Catherine smelt the stench of singed wood as well. Quickly surveying the deck, she caught sight of a cannonball lodged neatly in the side of the Renown. It was red and burning. Smoke rose around the ball. Heated shot.

Sparing a glance at Buckland and Sawyer, her skin felt cold. Sawyer had a pistol I his hand loaded and cocked. It was pointed directly at Buckland. Wellard who took Catherine's place beside Buckland looked on agitated and fearful. Eyes widening, Catherine half ran, half skidded across the deck to them.

"This is my ship!" cried the captain. Sawyer's eyes dilated, his hand holding the pistol shook. Catherine found herself staring straight into a barrel, pitch black. She halted in her tracks, dumbstruck. "Return fire, Mr Buckland."

Buckland's eyes flittered from left to right, unsure. He caught her eye.

"Sir…." began Catherine.

"Not even you, Mr Porter. Not even you," Sawyer muttered. His disappointment etched into his voice. Catherine's brow began to crease into a worried frown. She gave the order.

"Fire!"

After a brief interlude, the Renown shook once again at the recoil of her own guns, staining to break free. Puffs of dust rose from the cliffs as each shot found itself lodged into the cliffside. Not one was able to shoot high enough.

Another round of shot was fired by the fort, the shock of impact coursing through the Renown. Catherine stumbled backwards, crashing into a canon. Splinters rained down on her. Staggering upright amidst cries of 'sir' and helping hands, her eyesight was blurred slightly with red. Carefully touching her forehead she felt a deep gash above her left brow. Quickly dabbing at it and trying to ignore the bruises of hitting a canon, she caught sight of Sawyer staggering out of sight.

Another shudder coursed through the already battle - weary ship. This time there were splinters however.

"Oh, God!" we're aground!" muttered Buckland, clutching his head.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 **

Blood trickled through the cracks between Buckland's fingers of the hand clutching at his forehead. The other hand clawed at his ear, as if attempting to block out the sound of the battle raging around him. A beam crashed, an inch away from his feet. Buckland flinched violently, nearly missing his footing on the deck. Splinters coursed through the air, whistling.

Catherine staggered across the deck, trying to follow Sawyer's tracks across the deck. But the captain was nowhere to be found. It was then that she heard. That awesome creaking sound as wood rubbed against wood that was louder than any creaking motion of a usual running ship. Then it fell, the rope made the yardarm too unstable from the onslaught of the fort. She spun around. There was a searing pain as the tip of the yardarm swung towards her, knocking her backwards down onto the deck. Then there was blackness.

A/n: okay, I know this is very short and might sound a little clichéd. But I didn't know what to do this scene. So I put it there anayway. : ) please review to keep the updates faster. :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**I have just discovered the way that i can insert horizontal lines to separate the scenes, so hopefully it's going to be much clearer than before! Happy reading! And happy Easter! **

Kennedy looked on with shock as the yardarm swung across the deck. He watched transfixed as Catherine fell down onto the deck, the yardarm swinging across her falling body. With blood rushing loud in his ears, he rushed over to the unmoving body of Catherine, another shudder cursed to the Renown and another yardarm creaked ominously.

"Mr Kennedy, man the capstan!"

The order ran loud and clear in Kennedy's mind despite the roaring of the fight, as he reached Catherine. Her division or what was left of it had grouped around her as did the midshipman, Stuart. Brushing them aside, he felt her pulse, no sign of bleeding. She was just knocked out cold.

"Mr Kennedy!"

A splinter flew through the air beside his head. Turning towards Hornblower and his disapproving frown, he shouted over the din, "Mr Stuart, get Mr Porter to Dr Clive immediately!"

Kennedy watched with fear growing in his stomach for her, as two men unceremoniously carried her below, dodging and ducking under the debris strewn deck. He turned back to the task at hand with a heavy heart. Peering into the sea, he could see Hornblower and Bush in two launches as the Spanish shot down at them, Kennedy hurried down below, slipping down the flight of stars in his haste. He felt a strange sense of disembodiment, as his mind was acting of its own accord, a program that was entered into his head since the age of fourteen as a midshipman.

"Man the capstan!" he shouted. "Come on, look lively!"

The men rushed around, preparing to push. Their actions considerably less sluggish than Kennedy had expected. Possibly due to the pressing urgency that arose from the desperate situation they were currently in. The ship gave a sickening lurch, creaking in protest against the strain. According to his trained ear, it won't be long before the boat would no longer be able to hold itself against the unrelenting act from the fort. The Renown was a fine ship, but even fine ships cannot last forever. Between decks, there was a putrid stench. The stench of blood hung in the air mixed with the scent of burning powder. The heat compounded this effect. The smell of singed wood also hung heavy in the air from the many heated shot that was flung at the hull. Kennedy waited desperately for bush to appear. To signal that they were ready to heave the Renown off the reef. His fingers could not help and jitter. In a moment of peaceful agitation, his thoughts stayed on Catherine, her expression as the yardarm knocked her out cold. He wondered what was happening on deck without her directing the unfurling of the sails and the preparation to sail out of the bay. Splinters flew constantly through the air. Nothing could be clearly heard over the sounds of the battle.

"Come on! Heave! Heave!" Bush's booming loud voice cried over the din. Kennedy whipped around, joy in his heart slowing seeping through like the light at the end of a long and dark tunnel. He turned back to the men at the capstan.

"Heave! Heave!"

Slowly, he could hear a slow creaking sound as the anchor pulled taunt against the Renown. More splinters flew through the air. The men stopping pushing for a moment. He cried louder.

"Heave! Heave!" He threw himself against the capstan too, crying "Heave!"

The other lieutenants joined him too. Slowly with each agonizing heave, the ship began to move under their feet. Slowly, slowly, the Renown righted itself. Happiness welled up in Kennedy's chest. They had hope.

* * *

Catherine's eyelids felt very, very heavy. She attempted to open them. But it was fruitless and pathetic. She groaned slightly. She moved her finger. Her whole body felt heavy, it was sinking into her cot. There was a slow swinging motion as the cot moved back and forth. She was still at sea. Weakly, she tried again to open her eyes. Yes, she could see the wooden boards on top of her now. A hammer drummed inside her head. She groaned again. There wasn't much light, she assumed it was candlelight, so it was probably night time. There was something in the air, a very unpleasant smell. It was sweat. Her sweat from wearing her frock coat. How long did she sleep for? She couldn't tell. Slowly memories began to flood back into her mind which before had been a blankness of pure bliss. These memories were enough for her to sit straight up in her cot. Pain blinded her as her head throbbed more strongly.

What happened in the battle? Was the Renown captured by the Spanish? Was she even on the Renown? Where was the captain? How are Kennedy and the other lieutenants? Panic seized her as she stumble from her cot to where her sword sat on her sea chest at entrance to her berth. As her fingers closed around the hilt, she paused. Her head throbbed and she confusedly touched her sea chest with the lamp on it. The familiar lettering of Henry Porter HMS Renown engraved on a metal plate fixed on it. Catherine remembered that her chest always sat near the entrance to her berth and that she always put her sword on it. That her greatcoat still hung on the bulwark. Untouched. The deck creaked above her. Booted footsteps of the officer of the watch resonated above. It was all very familiar. Feeling suddenly very foolish, she realised that she still was on the Renown and judging that she was still in her berth with her sword, the Renown was not captured or sank in which case she would be a ghost which was positive that she was not.

Catherine's head still ached but less than when she first woke up. The last thing she saw was the yardarm swinging towards her. She assumed that is was what make her unconscious. But how long was she unconscious for? God, she thought, she had been knocked out cold while the others probably played hero by bringing the ship out in one piece. So much for dear Mr Porter's career. She scoffed. Slowly, she dipped her hand into the washbasin which was still filled with clear water. Seawater of course, but it was cool and clean on her feverish skin as she splashed her face with it. Wiping her hands on a slightly soiled napkin, she picked up her sword, sliding it back into her belt and proceeded with some degree of caution onto the deck.

Slowly, still breathing heavily, Catherine treaded her way up the stairs onto the upper gundeck where she could detect the forms of sleeping figures huddled in their respective hammocks. Lanterns swung lazily to and fro above her head. Unsteadily, she hauled herself up onto the quarterdeck, her head still hurting.

"Sir!" A voice cried out in surprise from the railing beside her. In the dim light, she could make out the a small figure with the hat of a midshipman. Heads began to turn her way as Stuart cried out in surprise.

"Mr Stuart, good evening." Her voice came out thicker and heavier than her usual voice. She quickly scanned the deck, hoping to catch a glance of Kennedy. Or anything that would betray to her what had happened during the time she had been indisposed for. Turning back to her midshipman, she asked: "How had it been since the battle?"

"No more than two days sir!" was the bright reply. "We took the fort but it was under siege from the slaves, so we had to blow it up and Messrs Hornblower, Bush and Kennedy did a mighty good job of it and came back to tell the tale! But that was after we managed to capture the three Spanish ships as prizes. And we managed to keep everyone from the fort as prisoners in the brig to take to Kingston!"

Stuart could almost have puffed up his chest if he had the choice. But he was already standing as tall as he possibly could under the extreme pride he felt. Catherine frowned, her head continued to throb and she was aware of her hunger.

"What of the captain?"

"The captain was confined to his cabin for days now, ever since we left the bay!" Stuart had taken pains to keep his voice lowered as he said this.

"Thank you, Mr Stuart" she tried to maintain a light casual tone, but she could not share Stuart's enthusiasm. They were going to Kinston with a captain that was confined to his cabin. Her heart sank slowly as the implications of her words sank in. Even Sir Edward Pellow at Kingston may not be able to protect them.

"I'm taking the watch because we are short, Mr Hornblower is commanding the prizes and you being indisposed of….." he trailed off, embarrassed by what he just said.

Catherine muttered an intelligible reply to Stuart, not having heard what he just said. Sawyer had just walked past, an inch from her, guided by Hobbs who had draped his arm protectively over Sawyers's shoulders, murmuring into Sawyer's ear. Sawyer did not even have on a coat. His linen shirt was stained and yellow. His hair stuck out at odd angles even more than usual. His beady eyes were unfocused and his gait unsteady. Catherine could not feel but a little pity for the former naval hero. She had met his daughter and his family. They were a happy family. But she was still unsettled but she knew where they were going.

As Sawyer and Hobbs disappeared below onto the gundeck, Catherine quietly followed suit, trying to tread as stealthily and trying to keep her headache at bay. Down two flights of stairs into the lower gundeck. The hatch was open tonight as well. The step underneath her feet creaked. And she inwardly groaned. But Hobbs and Sawyer noticed nothing. They were bending over that hatch. That same damn open hatch. And they were murmuring. Her blood literally went cold. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Pain hammered her skull. She gritted her teeth. She did not need to go any nearer to guess the words of their conversation. Or Hobbs part at least.

Catherine watched from the shadows cast by a lonely lantern as Wellard stepped out.

"Evening Mr Hobbs." Wellard greeted Hobbs in a surprisingly clear voice. "There is no use his mind is lost."

Hobbs face broke into a sneer.

"You of all men would wish that!"

Wellard did not move, with jaws that tensed he muttered with determination: "I did not push him."

Catherine felt the touch of wool in her hand before a dull thud as Sawyer lay in the hold below. She felt cold, wondering just what did Sawyer see when he fell. Another set of footsteps sounded. It was Kennedy. Catherine dug her nails into her palm. She waited with breathless anticipation for Sawyer's reaction. She wondered whether she too should step out. But there was no opportunity.

Sawyer raised a bony hand, pointing shakily at Kennedy.

"I remember you!"

Catherine's eye momentarily widened.

"You're Admiral de Puresse!" he exclaimed. Catherine frowned. But she could not see Kennedy or Wellard's reactions to such a declaration. Hobbs however had a furious expression. His nostrils flared and his brows knitted in anger.

"Please take the captain back into his cabin." Kennedy said mildly.

"I swear he will remember. If not today, then tomorrow, but he will remember." Hobbs declared darkly. Catherine silently hoped that he would never as she silently treaded back the way she came before Sawyer and Hobbs discovered her presence and demand why she did not show herself. Such a confrontation that she would rather avoid at all costs especially when her head still felt like it was going to be split into two with every jarring step.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 **

The early morning watch had just begun to change with the first morning watch, clambering wordlessly and eagerly to roll in their hammocks, completely oblivious to the greatly reduced size of the crew. To them, it simply meant more space for those who survived and those who weren't assigned to some tiny sloop. A breeze billowed the sails gently, but not enough to push the Renown at a fast speed despite the amount of canvas.

Catherine took all these details slowly in, feeling her headache spread from her neck down, growing into her back and her legs and her arms, turning them into deadweights. Her sword at her hip hung listlessly and became a nuisance when it usually was not felt at all. It ground against her thigh, annoying her as she paced to and fro across the deck. Everything seemed heavy and she passed the bloodstains on the deck with numbness. She barely noticed it. For a few blissful moments it was all silent aboard the Renown, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling that her heavy eyelids fell across her eyes, unseeing.

It was silent aboard the Renown. Catherine's eyes snapped open. Silent? Too silent. Even the sails had stopped their menial flapping and the timbers lulled its harsh creaking. She cast a cursory glance at the hands on deck. It suddenly struck her that there was way too few of them. Only a third of the original crew of five hundred remained on board now. There was less than thirty or so of them on deck, including the Marines, midshipman and officers. The silence in the deck could really just be the lack of men on deck she told herself. But her senses were still rubbed rather raw by it.

Ears perked up to hear all sounds. She became acutely aware of the sounds of the ship that she usually was able exclude from her senses. They were loud and clear. Her headache struck with renewed vigour, but she was more alert than she had been from waking up from her concussion. It turned from a hammer striking her skull over and over again to tentacles of some giant octopus sucking in her skull, squeezing and squeezing. Having suppressed showing any sign of pain, she had to let out a small groan, fingering the bottle of laudanum, in her pocket.

Stepping off the quarterdeck, she walked into the messdeck. Hammocks hung in rows between the cannons, they were spaced sparsely because of the small number of hands that remained, swinging to and fro with the waves. Peering into the gloom, she could tell that all the hands were asleep, snoring quietly, perhaps dreaming about their families, lovers, drink and whatever to their fancy.

A loud clang of some heavy object as it was rammed into a wooden door. No door was kept under lock and key except for the storeroom for rifles, bayonets and powder. Most weapons were kept in the captain's cabin but some deemed to be dangerous was stored with the cargo in the hold closest to the brig. Catherine started. No it can't be, she thought, who would break into the weapons storage? Mutineers? Prisoners? She sped up her steps, her feet clumsy against the lower deck. She didn't care if it would wake the whole ship, the Renown may possibly in grave danger once again.

Suddenly, a hand reached out, grabbing her arm in a death grip. She was about to pull out her sword, when she realized that it was Kennedy who had grabbed her and dragged her into a shadow. His green eyes peered into her grey ones as she recovered from her shock. The shock momentarily kept her headache at bay. He did not let go of her arm.

"It was the prisoners," he whispered harshly. "They broke out of the brig and into the weapons store below. I saw."

Catherine nodded mutely, reality hitting her. She could hear it now, loud footsteps along the deck outside of their hiding spot. And a voice clearly speaking Spanish. They made no attempt to conceal it, perhaps knowing that they outnumber the Renowns at least two to one if not more. Kennedy aimed his pistol and shot, creating a thud and a loud curse.

"Sound the alarm! I'm going on deck to signal for Hornblower," whispered Catherine, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly. She could also feel the knife that was hidden in her frock coat. And her pistol. Kennedy still did not let her go, making the space seem smaller than before. He passed her his extra pistol with a rueful smile. With a pang, Catherine remembered the times they went hunting together. Archie hadn't been a crack shot while she somehow managed to hit every single target. A perk of being the only female sibling.

"Here take this."

There was no sentimentality at the exchange, but emotion of worry and care could be strongly felt between the two people. Catherine glanced up at him.

"You'll need it."

"I'm relying on you to shoot my attacker."

She passed him her knife, he stopped her. With another wry smile, she promised, "I'll shoot them."

The hands were just beginning to stir at the noise. Catherine shouted, rallying the remaining Renowns. She unsheathed her sword, swinging it as she rushed onto the quarterdeck. The fighting already was intense. Not all the prisoners were armed, many fought with their bare fists, driven by the desire to survive and to live with dignity not as prisoners. Most of the hands who had been on deck were being driven into corners as they struggled to fight with the Spanish coming from left and right. Stuart desperately wielded his sword, but Catherine saw the flash of gleaming metal and knew that he was dead, he landed heavily near the ladder where Catherine had stood. The Spanish officer turned on Catherine, raising the sword high above his head. Catherine sidestepped him, ducking, at the same time swinging her sword to meet his. The clash of metal sounded followed by a screech as they scratched against each other. She didn't want to fight him, but she needed to get the signal out to Hornblower. He attacked her again in a sharp jabbing motion. She feinted to the left, turning at the moment and she pulled out her knife from her coat, slashed at his abdomen before he could react. Much to his surprise, before he could recover, a hand had stabbed him. With a curt nod to acknowledge them, Catherine continued, ducking and dodging blows. With a thrust here, a stab there, she didn't know how many she had killed but she made sure no one blocked her way onto the quarterdeck.

In the melee, she scrambled up the ladder. Whoosh! Steel whipped past. With a yelp, she involuntarily let go and fell on in a heap at the Spanish colonel's feet. He beat down with his sword, but being a woman, Catherine managed to rolled aside, missing the blow. Picking up her sword, her knife forgotten somewhere, she feinted, but he matched her strike, slicing through her left arm. She cried.

"Do you surrender?" he asked. "We outnumber you."

"Damn you!" she yelled back with vehemence, adrenaline surging through her blood. Taking his momentary distraction, she stomped on his foot and kneed him in the groin with as much strength as she could muster. She didn't care about proper fighting anymore, it was about survival. She wasn't going to give up, not yet at least. Her arm began to throbbed, wetness coursing through the wool of her sleeve. Grabbing onto it, she stumbled up onto the quarterdeck. Why did that colonel want her to surrender? That only means Buckland and Bush are dead or indisposed. But Kennedy, he was also senior. But he couldn't be dead. God! But her mind told her that their uniforms were the same, the colonel wouldn't know anything about seniority except that Buckland was first lieutenant. It quarterdeck held on much better than midship. Catherine allowed a quick glance over the deck below, Kennedy was engaged with a Spaniard. His swordsmanship had been sound. Most of the prisoners seems to be still below. If she was to call them onto the quarterdeck, and if Hornblower boards from the fore, they may be able to subdue them in a pincer. And the quarterdeck was easier to hold off. But the fighting was too intense, not everyone would be able to make it in time. Catherine with a momentary hesitation, still cried, "Renowns, to me!"

A midshipman, Mason, on the deck, heard and repeated to the cry. She knocked off another prisoner, before she reached Mason.

"Go signal Mr Hornblower!" she ordered. Turning around, she shot the prisoner, giving Mason time. Risking another glance below, some men were fighting their way onto the deck, before a large Spaniard bore down on her with a menacing growl. I must look like easy prey, she thought. She was going to pull out her pistol but there wasn't enough time. She tried to duck, it hit her hat, knocking it off. Her sword was stuck. She threw a punch, throwing him slightly off balance, giving her enough time to free her sword and bash his head with the hilt. With a groan, he stopped in his path and Catherine promptly slit his throat, blood gushing out onto her.

More men had reached the deck now, though fighting was still intense below. She peered over to the fore. Her spirits elated as she saw men on the riggings jumping onto the deck. Raising her sword, she swung it,

"Renowns, get them!"

With yelps and shouts, the remnants of the Renown sailors charged back down into the melee, fuelled by the sight of Hornblower's prize crew. Catherine followed after them. Adrenaline made her more alert than ever, the cut on her arm that refused to stop bleeding felt painless, the swinging of her sword seemed natural. Her eyes scanned the deck for Kennedy, zeroing on him just as his assailant managed to push through his defence and push a sword into his abdomen. Catherine's overwhelmed mind did not process this until a few moments later when Hornblower came up to her with a sword. His words cutting through the fog in her mind.

"Mr Porter! Mr Porter!"

Did she seem distracted. Possibly.

"Where's Mr Buckland? The Spaniards surrendered."

Buckland? She hasn't seen him since she arrived on deck. Could be indisposed of too. The captain and the acting captain. That sword went through him. God!

"Where's Buckland?"

Catherine came to.

"I haven't seen him sir, could be injured," she answered dispassionately. Archie Kennedy had been stabbed. An echo of her promise rang in her mind, "I'll shoot them". He's going to die because she didn't keep her promise. Dear God! Slowly the swimming in her vision began to clear. She registered that all the prisoners are putting down their weapons. Matthews was supervising their return into the brig. Hornblower's orders too probably.

She picked her way slowly across the deck. A metallic smell of blood was tangible in the air already in the stuffy heat. Her arm began to throb to. In her capacity as Lt. Henry Porter, she was required to keep this ship and its men afloat and alive and running. With another pang, she realized that her lieutenant duties were not that different from her duties as Lady Catherine, running a manor with cracks running through the walls, figuratively and physically.

"How many Matthews?"

"'undred – five, sir."

Almost two hundred Spanish soldiers came aboard, not including the women. Now only half remained. With a heavy heart, she felt sorry for them. They probably had a family, friends, people they cared about. Now they'll never see them again. But may their courage be remembered, to fight against them the victors. Suddenly she felt a surge of resentment a Hornblower. If they had just sailed for Kingston like Buckland wanted, none of this would have happened, and Kennedy and countless other men would have still been alive. She had thought that move to capture the fort and fulfill orders a little too reckless from her political mind, but she took the gamble as it would reflect on their desire to act out the captain's orders. But the plan itself may seem too independent, too much in the nature of mutinous lieutenants wanting personal glory. On the other hand, she thought, rather too much like a politician, if they were to be court-martialed, that move would easily have been counted as a reckless move on Buckland's behalf to prove his mettle as acting captain and therefore bear the consequences of it. And, she told herself, as the most junior, she couldn't have much of a say in it. These men being nothing more than co-conspirators – or rather, just people thrown together under exceptional circumstances and now made to keep together because of their actions – some sort of mutual blackmail. Now nothing was certain because of Hornblower. Hornblower's own ambitions, own sense of achievement. Talk about being friends, rather Kennedy at been completely overshadowed by his larger than life appearance. At the moment, Catherine could not have been more resentful of him.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Matthew's voice cut through her ministrations. "Your arm's bleeding sir."

Catherine looked at her arm surprised. It was still bleeding, blood had started to drip down onto the deck. She ignored it. At least she wasn't stabbed.

"Thank you, Matthews, I'm fine." She answered stiffly, "see that all the prisoners be brought down. After I want all the dead accounted for and prepared for burial. And all weapons cleared."

"Even the Dons, sir?" anger clearly in Styles voice.

"Yes, everyone."

Styles opened his mouth, but Matthews tugged on his arm. They both saluted. She rushed onto the deck towards the captain's cabin. But Hornblower blocked her path. She couldn't help but look at him derisively, the look of an aristocrat.

"The captain's dead. So it Wellard. We'd never know what happened but they died together fighting."

Her mouth felt dry.

"Who found them first?" omitting the 'sir'.

"Hobbs, Mr Porter. Now we all have our duties to attend to." Hornblower walked away, leaving her to process the implications. If Hobbs found them when they were alive, God knows what would have he heard. Her mind transported her back to that night, the fatal step backwards, the feel of wool, a small tap. Sawyer didn't know who pushed him last time she saw but he could have regained his memory by now. As for Wellard, surely he wouldn't tell. But who knows. Dying together with the captain seemed out of character. But why was he there in the first place?

She slowly moved away. There were activity all around her. gingerly touching her arm, she felt it sting through her clothes. Amidst all the activity, she saw Archie perched on a cannon. He was still alive. She gaped, she saw him get stabbed by a Spaniard for sure. Then she noticed Hornblower kneeling before him. That expression would stay in her memory forever. That haunted look of disbelief, anger, grief and resignation flashed across Hornblower's features. Slowly, he embraced Archie. An unusual show of comradeship and friendship and of emotion.

It was true after all. It was only then, that Catherine's felt grief tug at her mind and her heart, her resentment at Hornblower forgotten. Grief and guilt flooded her at once, making her eyes prick with tears. She shook her head to compose herself. When she saw him get stabbed, she could easily have pulled out his pistol, Archie Kennedy's pistol that he gave her, and shot him. But she didn't, she turned away, writing him off like he was already not worth a bullet. She could have prevented it, but she stood there caring for her own life, thinking political maneuvers for a court-martial. Too engrossed was she that she forgot completely about her childhood friend. And as much she tried to forget, his admission of love. Catherine felt disgusted about herself. She had always thought that when you ask something of someone, you must give them something back. Archie Kennedy had never wanted anything from her except for her friendship, not even her love – yet – but she had simply taken everything he gave her for granted. She disgusted herself.

Slowly she approached him. Saluting as she did so. At a loss for words, she took out his still loaded pistol.

"I'm…..sorry."

Even to her own ears, it was meek, feeble, lame. Completely unconvincing. He took it back silently. Catherine quickly turned away, unable to bear all the emotions she felt without losing that mask of professional competency. Was it cowardice? Vulnerability? She didn't know.

* * *

The next three days passed without much incident. But it strained Catherine's nerves more then she would admit. They were now truly on their course to Kingston. Bush and Kennedy were confined to the sick bay. Clive roughly bandaged her arm and kept very busy tending to the wounded. Though the amount of people leaving the sickbay wrapped in canvas testify to his somewhat doubtful success. And Buckland returned in command of the Renown with Hornblower commanding the three prize ships behind. Buckland and her were the only lieutenants on board. In the battle at the fort and the prisoner revolts, several midshipman were dead. But the wreck of the Renown moved with surprising swiftness without any weather impediments.

First was the burials of all the dead. The process was solemn and long. Everyone feeling the isolation of the vessel and the lack of people. And soon Buckland's voice became just a monotone as he read out the prayers for each dead crew member. Catherine had to constantly remind him of their names, while the crew behind them shifted on their feet, restless. Most of her division were dead, being unfortunate enough to remain on the Renown. Her midshipman, Stuart, was also dead. He would have made a fine officer, full of youthful energy and excitement. So was Wellard. These pained her the most. They were her responsibility, it was her duty to keep them safe and to protect them. But she has failed. Her inaction has caused their deaths. As for Sawyer's body, noting that his family resided in Kingston, Clive has dumped his body into a rum casket to preserve it until a proper funeral with his family in Kingston.

Buckland had lost all credibility among the crew – any that seniority naturally bestowed. Being tied up in his cot, caught asleep without any fighting wounds proved his inadequacy to the crew. Sniggers and jeers behind hands were not an uncommon sight as Buckland's plight spread like wildfire through the remainder of the crew. Catherine, only wanting to maintain discipline onboard, cracked down on it. It was naval protocol, he was the senior officer, respect and hierarchy must be maintained. She didn't want any disrespect for any officers. Buckland, as if to prove his standing, took over Sawyer's cabin. Spending most of the time there, taking navigational calculations and writing his report. By the mess on the desk, she could guess the man's dilemma, making the most convincing report to the Admiralty in Kingston to justify all actions – which he as senior officer needs to be responsible for.

As remaining officer, she had to oversee the running of the ship. But that was not difficult, besides picking out signs of disrespect, she doubted anything would happen. Under the watchful eyes of Hobbs, Renown would sail into Kingston. For he wanted to see the mutineers swing.

**Author's note: I know's it taken ages, for that i'm really sorry. but I really enjoyed writing this, after stopping and letting real life subside, hopefully the next chapter would take much shorter. But hope you guys like some hints of Archie/Oc action - don't worry, more will come later! Enjoy and review! **


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